Rough Trade
by john n dean
Summary: John thought his first orn died in the fire with his mother. Dean thought his family had moved on without him. They were oth wrong. Daddy!cest, underage.  Dean is 15, John thinks he's 17.
1. It's Sleeping in My Memory

**Title:** Rough Trade 1/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 800  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title is taken from _I Am a Rock_ by Simon & Garfunkel._

Master Post

**Prologue: It's Sleeping In My Memory **

The place was just one more dive bar in a very long line of dive bars. Frankly, John was well past bored with hustling poker and pool. But Sammy had to eat and he needed ammo, and he couldn't afford to settle down to get a nine to five. He had to keep moving, had to at least try to keep his kid under the radar so that he wouldn't end up like Mary and Dean.

A familiar pain bloomed in his chest at the memory of the two family members he'd already lost, a pain that he now knew would never really heal. All he could do was let it wash over him and hope it wouldn't take too long to pass. He'd watched Mary burst into flames, pinned to the ceiling. He'd run out with Sammy and left him bundled up on the grass, screaming his little lungs out to go back for Dean. Leaving the baby was against his better judgment, but he wanted him out of the house as quickly as possible. He'd thought that he'd have more time than he did, but the fire had burned so hot and spread so fast. Hotter and faster then what was natural. He had to fight his way through the flames, rushing ahead heedless of burnt clothing and skin, defying suffocatingly hot air and smoke inhalation that had made him feel like his lungs were being steam cooked… only to fall through the floor at the door of his boy's room.

Two days later, he woke up in the hospital on a respirator. Sammy had been fine, taken in by his business partner while John struggled to survive severe burns, smoke inhalation and injuries sustained in the fall. But Dean… there hadn't been a trace of his beautiful towheaded, green-eyed boy. In fact, the fire had been so intense that any remains were lost in the ashes of John's life.

Much as John was relieved to still have his baby boy, the loss of Dean almost broke him. Mary had been bad enough, the memory of seeing her hanging stuck to the ceiling like that, like her entire center of gravity had shifted. The horror it had filled him with at that moment and the detached way he had wondered why her entrails weren't falling out of the gaping, bloody gash in her abdomen. The smell of her skin and hair burning when she burst into flames. That haunted him whether he was awake or sleeping. But the thought of Dean dying like that, alone and probably calling for his Daddy. Choking on smoke. _Burning_. That had nearly destroyed him. He rubbed at the ruined skin on his arm, remembering how badly it had hurt. How he'd refused to take any painkillers in the hospital because he had wanted to feel it, wanted to do some penance for not getting Dean out when he'd had the chance. Until Mike's wife had come to the hospital and begged him to take his medication because he needed to heal. Needed to get back to Sammy, who spent all night screaming for parents he was afraid had abandoned him. So he sucked it up and did what he needed to do to get out of the hospital and back to his youngest. But he had never gotten over the feeling that he'd gotten off too damn easy.

John watched himself in the mirror over the bar trying to find some trace of the man he'd been all those years ago. He idly fingered the beer glass in front of him, his second of the night, eyes burning with tears that he would not shed until he finally averted them from the stranger staring back at him. Dean had been beautiful. Perfect. His. Whenever he was hurt or frightened, Dean always sought out John. He'd sit for hours on the weekends watching television with John, or out in the driveway watching him work on the Impala and learning the words to his music. The minute John came home from work, Dean was there to greet him. Mary always told everyone that Dean was a Daddy's boy, so focused on John when he was home that it was like she wasn't even around. And in the end, John had let him down. Had let him die. Maybe if he'd gotten Dean before taking Sammy out… He closed his eyes and shut the door on that line of thinking. He couldn't go there. He'd spent _months_ there when it first happened and almost lost his sanity and the only part of his family he had left.

Speaking of that family, he needed to provide food and shelter for his growing boy. Not to mention ammo and other supplies. He downed the rest of his beer and approached the pool table. The only bad thing about hustling pool was that nobody ever thought he was an easy mark anymore. Good thing he had the poker hustling and credit card scams to make up the difference.


	2. I'm a River That's All Dried Up

**Title:** Rough Trade 2/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>1510  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_ A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are title taken from _Brand New_ by Daisy _

**Chapter One: I'm a River That's All Dried Up **

_"When are you comin' back, Dad?" _

"In a day or two."

_"But I thought the hunt was over." _

"It is. I just need to make a little more cash. We were runnin' low, buddy."

Sammy sighed… and how the boy could pack an entire argument, insults on what a completely crappy Dad he was included, into a sigh was a mystery to John. _"I've got a _report_ due, Dad."_

"I know that," John lied. Well, it wasn't really a lie. He _knew_… he'd just… forgotten. "I got you covered, Sammy. I'll tell the school that we had a family emergency and had to be out of town for a few weeks."

_"You're not gonna kill off grandma again, are you? Cause you do that at least once a year." _

"It's always a different school," John said defensively. And what was it about Sammy that always made him feel defensive these days?

_"Yeah. Don't remind me." _

The boy was obviously too young to be in a bar. Shaggy dirty blond hair fell into green eyes that John found familiar even though he was sure he'd never seen that exact shade before. John would have guessed about 15 or 16, but he was taller than you'd expect a kid that young to be. And he seemed more mature. Of course, that could just be because he'd spent too much time on the street. One thing was obvious; the kid was way too damn skinny, like those kids they pimped for sponsors on those late night commercials. As he studied him, John noted that the boy's body language telegraphed his nervousness despite his best efforts to put on a brave façade. But that façade was crumbling quickly. He was trying to hustle pool, and John had to admit that the kid wasn't half bad at it, but the creep he was playing against was all over him. The boy played along; all smiles like he was used to it, maybe even expected it, but it was clear to John that he didn't want it. He just didn't expect anyone to help him. And John was struck with a sudden realization that this kid probably ended up on his knees more often than not and that led him to the obvious fact that this kid was probably a prostitute trying to make some money at pool so he wouldn't have to make it on his back tonight.

That didn't sit well with him. He never frequented prostitutes himself, but he never passed judgment on others who did, as long as all the participants were consenting adults. Hell, even a little slightly underage was okay with him if no one was being forced into something they didn't want. After all, if you could march off to war at seventeen like he had and risk being shipped home in a box, you could decide if you wanted to have sex. But this was different. This kid was obviously either severely neglected or a runaway and even if the living he was trying to make wasn't exactly honest, he wasn't hurting anyone. Taking advantage of his apparent desperation was just wrong.

John found himself on his feet and making his way to the table. "You got a problem with your hands, son?" He kept his voice low and condescending, letting it rumble up from his chest, as he addressed the jerk manhandling the boy. The man, who was actually only slightly younger than John, blinked up at him.

"This kid's been comin' in here connin' good, hardworkin', _decent_ folks outta their hard earned money. Only fair we expect him to work a little harder for it. I seen him on the corner with all the other whores, so it's not like he's not used to it… bet he's real good on his knees. Just look at those lips." He sounded defensive. Reminded John of Sammy when he got caught red-handed doing something he knew John didn't want him to do. Kid was too stubborn to ever admit he was wrong. Always had to try to figure out a way to be right.

John threw a quick glance at the kid. The boy was staring at him with wide eyes, hope and fear warring in them. John briefly wondered if the kid would prefer having sex with him to the asshole who was pawing at him, but quickly dismissed that thought, not even sure of where it had come from. He wasn't going to expect anything for his help anyway, and the kid clearly just wanted to be left alone. "You got five seconds to take your hands off 'im."

The man scoffed. "He's just a whore. What do you care?"

John smirked and threw a punch without a second warning. Stupid bastard used up his five seconds being a whiny bitch. The man went down like a sack of potatoes and didn't get back up. The kid gawked down at the sprawled form suddenly lying at his feet and then back up at John. John looked around as he shook out his hand, but nobody seemed to actually notice what had happened. Dive bars were funny like that. Either everybody was everybody else's cousin or best friend and hitting someone started a brawl, or everybody just yawned and kept knockin' 'em back. The latter was apparently the case here. "What's your name boy?"

"De… Devon."

John raised an eyebrow, wondering what kind of name that was to give a boy. "Well, Devon, think you can stay out of trouble for the rest of the night?"

The kid snickered. "It would be a first. Thanks for that. But you probably shouldn'ta done it."

"Why's that?" John frowned at him, wondering if he'd misread the situation.

The kid shrugged and looked away. "Not like it won't just happen again. And he might come lookin' for me later…"

The kid's voice trailed off and John realized that he was right. Petty bastard like this would just take his anger out on the kid. "You got somewhere to sleep tonight?" And John wanted to take the words back, because really? Inviting an underage hustler to spend the night in his hotel room when he was sitting on a wad of cash he was trying to grow into an even bigger wad wasn't exactly the brightest idea he'd ever had.

"Oh… you want some company?" The boy smirked at John as if he was proving the kid's point, even though he didn't seem at all happy about being right.

John smirked back and raised an amused eyebrow. "Not particularly. You ain't my type. 'Xpect you to keep your hands to yourself, boy."

The kid blinked at him wide-eyed and shocked. To his credit, he recovered quickly. "What, afraid I'll take advantage of you," he snarked.

John rolled his eyes. "Terrified. You comin' or you gonna wait here for that son of a bitch to come to and manhandle you some more?" John headed for the door, not looking behind him. But he was relieved to find that the boy was right behind him when he walked outside. "So… when's the last time you had a meal?"

The kid hunched his shoulders as he dug his hands into his pockets in an attempt to stave off the evening chill and gave John a suspicious sidelong glance. John noted how threadbare the kid's t-shirt was. He really needed a jacket out here. Whoever was supposed to be looking out for this kid should be shot. "Depends on what you'd call a meal. Do crackers and packets of grape jelly count?"

John snorted and shook his head. The malnutrition might make him look like a refugee from a third world country in the middle of a drought, but it hadn't hurt the boy's wit. Or at least he hoped it hadn't, because once he got him healthy he'd be running circles around John. And when the hell had he decided to get him healthy? He shouldn't have this kid anywhere near Sammy. Shouldn't be letting him into his life at all, Sammy or no Sammy. He'd just take him to another town, somewhere far away from anyone who'd seen him out on a corner. Give him a chance to start over. He gave the kid another glance. Kid might be underfed, but he was too damn pretty to be out on the street. Even if he weren't, no kid deserves to be let out on a street corner like some stray dog nobody wants. Hell, not even the dogs deserved that. Okay. So maybe he'd take him to Blue Earth. Jim could find him a good home, and helping homeless street urchins was right up his old friend's alley. That way he wouldn't be turning his back on this kid, and he wouldn't be letting him into his life either. He let out a long breath. "How does pizza sound?"

"Like the meal of champions," the boy said with a bright, hopeful smile that stole John's breath away and made him ache in ways that only remembering Mary and Dean usually did. John looked away and gritted his teeth, breathing though the pain until it was manageable.

John let the kid into the truck he'd borrowed from Bobby while his girl was waiting for him to fix her suspension. The doors squealed loudly and he decided that he was going to oil them tomorrow just on principle. That damn sound was annoying as hell.

They stopped at a pizza joint and John went inside to pick up a large pizza with way too many toppings to be healthy, with a side order of breadsticks and a couple two-liter pops. He threw in some chips and pie for good measure. Dean had loved his mother's homemade pie. Would have eaten it for breakfast, lunch and dinner if they'd let him. John wondered if Dean would still love pie as he watched the girl behind the counter bag everything up and decided that he would. Dean would still love all the things he had before because Dean was forever four-year-old perfection in John's imagination.

It was only a few weeks from the anniversary of the fire and John could feel himself getting maudlin and emotional, spending way too much time trying to imagine what his boy would have been like now, at fifteen. Would he have been rebellious? Would he have been bookish like Sam, or hell on wheels? Would he have been a heartbreaker like his mother claimed he would with that dazzling smile, those big green eyes and ridiculous lashes?

Hell, missing Dean was probably why he suddenly had the urge to take in some street kid he wasn't sure could be trusted. Why he kept feeling this compulsion to take care of him every time he looked at him. He gathered his purchases and headed outside with them precariously balanced in his arms. The kid was out of the truck as soon as he saw him and met him halfway, relieving him of some of his burden.

Once they got to the room, he was glad he'd bought so much food. The kid out ate him at a margin of at least two to one. He inhaled the food so fast that it was almost frightening to watch, and then washed it down with a two liter. So much for pizza for breakfast. When the kid saw the pie, his eyes went wide and worshipful and he ate it like it was some sort of fucking religious experience.

"You two want some time alone, kid?" John watched him with an amused disbelief. He'd never seen anyone behave like that with food. Not anyone other than Dean, but Dean had been _four_. Four year olds were supposed to bliss out over sweets.

Devon looked up at him, his mouth in a full pout and John suddenly felt uncomfortable. The kid blinked at him with wide hurt eyes that made the older man want to hug him, which made him even more uncomfortable. And where the fuck was all this touchy feely, emo crap coming from? He needed to drop this kid off at Blue Earth before he started lactating or something. "I like pie's all," the boy said around a half-chewed mouthful. "That a crime?"

"No, kid. 'S not a crime. Want my piece?" John slid his across the table, suddenly wanting to make amends for teasing. The boy looked at him suspiciously before accepting it.

After dinner, John made Devon take a shower and gave him some clean clothes to sleep in. When the kid got out of the shower, he stood next to the bed in a set of sweats that was way to big for him, eyeing John questioningly as he held up the pants with one hand. "Is your name really John?"

"Yeah. Why?"

The kid raised an eyebrow at him. "I hear that name a lot. You could say almost everyone I've ever meet these days is a john."

John snorted softly in amusement. "Oh. Right. Yeah, my name's really John, kid."

"And you're not some psycho killer?"

John sighed in exasperation. He'd exhausted all his extroversion for the day, and this kid's utter lack of survival skills were making him wonder how the hell he'd made it on the streets more than a handfull of days. "A little late for that question, don't you think?"

Devon shrugged with a canting of his head and raised eyebrows, as if ceding the point, and started chewing on his bottom lip. And the uncomfortable urge to hug him, to make all his fear and uncertainty go away, was back in full force. "Guess it doesn't really matter," he finally said.

"Why wouldn't it matter?"

The kid gave John a painful looking smile. "Where do you want me?"

John sighed and let him change the subject. "We can share the bed. Just stick to your side and stop talkin'." He didn't mean to sound so gruff, but he was just beginning to realize that Devon hadn't come with him because he trusted him. He'd come because he was tired and just needed somewhere to rest, even if that got him killed. Because he didn't expect to live long anyway. The kid might actually be seventeen, he was definitely mature enough to be even older, even if he didn't look it. But either way, he was too young to look at his own death as an inevitability. He was supposed to think he was invincible. This was the age that boys did stupid reckless things because they thought they couldn't die, not because they believed it was only a matter of time. The idea that this kid was at that point made something in John hurt, something he thought got burned out of him in the fire, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

The boy silently got in the bed and John turned off the light, prepared to spend a long night staring at the ceiling.

"John?"

"What?"

"You're grouchy. I think you need to get laid."

Thrown by the utter sincerity in the boy's voice, John turned his head and looked at the form laying a few inches away, bright eyes staring back at him. "You offerin'," he asked incredulously.

"Maybe."

"I don't do little boys."

"Hey! I'm _seventeen_!"

John snorted. "My ass."

He saw a flash of white as the boy smirked. "If that's what you're into. I've never actually topped before, but I'd do it for you."

He wasn't sure what bugged him more, the fact that the boy seemed to mean every word he was saying, or that he was actually tempted. It had been awhile since John had been with anyone and his scars ensured that he didn't seek out companionship often. The ones he'd earned hunting weren't so bad and he could easily make up something plausible for them… but the burns. The burns hurt to even think about, and he could never bring himself to lie about them. The story might increase his odds of getting laid, but it was a rare day when it didn't totally kill the mood for him. "Devon," he warned, his voice a soft growl.

"What? You got a nice ass… John."

"Shut up and go to sleep before I tie you up and gag you."

"Oooh… kinky." The kid yawned suddenly, his mouth trying to devour his face.

"You're tired, kiddo. Go to sleep. You can annoy me more in the morning."

"Promise you won't chop me up into bite sized pieces and throw me in the river?" The kid sounded so young and scared and vulnerable that John wanted nothing more than to protect him. If anyone asked him why, he couldn't explain it. It was just there, as real and visceral as his need to protect Sammy. But why _this_ kid? It had been eleven years since the fire. He would have thought if his reaction to his grief was going to be to take in some needy kid about the age Dean would have been, he would have at least felt the urge a long time ago.

John snorted. The kid might be fatalistic, but at least he didn't want to die. That was something. "Promise."

"'Kay." And just like that, the boy was out cold. John had never seen anyone go to sleep that fast in his life. Except maybe in the Marines, when they pretty much marched you until you were dead on your feet. He chuckled softly, his own eyes growing heavy with sleep.

John was shocked to find himself waking up the next morning since he hadn't planned on actually falling asleep. He was even more shocked to find no trace of Devon. He checked his wallet, because the boy was a hustler and a street kid after all, and found it only twenty dollars lighter. The borrowed truck was still in the parking lot. Not that he'd miss it, but he really didn't feel like dealing with Bobby. The man bitched enough without giving him anything to bitch about. John reasoned that twenty bucks was an acceptable loss, if it kept the kid alive a little longer. But it still bothered him that Devon was out there all alone again.

John was trying to reconcile himself to the old saw about not being able to save everyone, when the door knob jiggled then turned and the door swung open. John already had his gun drawn and aimed by the time he realized that it was Devon, wide-eyed and clutching a bag and a drink holder that contained two Styrofoam cups as he stared down the barrel of John's gun like a chicken staring down a hawk.

John lowered the gun and huffed out a breath. "Jesus, Devon! I almost _shot_ you!"

"Yeah… noticed that. Can I come in, or you want… you want me to go?"

"Come in. You got breakfast?"

"Yeah. Well, I used your money. Assface never gave me what I won last night, so I didn't really have any. But I thought… I donno. You were tired and… I hope you don't mind I got somethin' for me too." The boy was still standing in the doorway, fist squeezed tight around the top of the bag, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. The kid was only wearing the clothes he'd worn the night before and he had to be freezing out there.

"No… it's fine. Just come in and close the door."

Devon rushed inside and closed and locked the door behind him. He sat everything on the table and hurried over to put John's change on the side table. "I got you a country breakfast. Three scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns and biscuits. And black coffee. I got some sugar and cream just in case you like that kinda shit."

John chuckled at the boy eyeing him nervously as he stood there scratching the back of his neck. "No. Black's fine. Smells good."

"So… you a drug dealer or somethin'?"

"What?"

"You sleep with a gun under your pillow." Devon nodded at the pillow where John had returned the gun.

"Do I look like a drug dealer?"

"I donno. You could be an enforcer or some shit. You kinda look the type. Big and like you know how to handle yourself."

"No, Devon. I'm not an enforcer."

"Wouldn't matter to me," Devon said, as if he thought John was lying for his benefit. "Not like I got much room to judge anyone else's life choices."

"Life choices?" John repeated incredulously.

Devon shrugged and scratched absently at his arm. "One of my teachers thought I had a screw loose. Made me see a shrink. That was one of his favorite phrases. Kinda stuck in my head."

"What did you get yourself from the diner, kid?"

"Egg and sausage sandwich and a cheese Danish. If that's alright. I mean, you can have it if you want it. I just thought…"

"'S fine."

"And coffee. I got coffee."

"That shit'll stunt your growth, you know."

Devon snorted incredulously. "Don'tcha think it's a little late to be worried about that?"

"Men grow till they're twenty one."

"Really?"

"Yeah." John hid his smirk behind his coffee as the kid pushed his own cup away with a frown.

After they finished breakfast, John took Devon for a haircut. The kid protested, but it wasn't nearly as bad as Sammy's protests so John just ignored him. The kid was so shocked when John told the barber he was his son that the complaints stopped long enough for the tall thin man to get started. He spent the rest of the day making more cash and feeding Devon, who he decided was basically a food disposal with legs.

The next day, John parked behind a clinic offering free STD testing. The kid looked at the building and the sign advertising the free tests, then at John before shrugging.

"Probably a good idea," he said, sounding a little fatalistic and way older than seventeen.

"What's probably a good idea?"

"Gettin' me checked out," he said casually as he got out of the car. John stared after him for half a second. That went a hell of a lot better than he expected, especially after the haircut. He finally got out of the car and followed, grateful that the kid was such a pragmatist.

Turned out bringing him had been a damn good idea. Devon had Chlamydia, rectal gonorrhea, crab lice and the antibodies for Hepatitis C. John gave a full body shudder at the list. Thank God he hadn't taken the kid up on his numerous and blatant offers of sex.

"Antibodies for Hep C? What does that mean?" John asked as the doctor laid out several vials of antibiotics, ignoring the way the little bastard kept looking at him as if he were personally responsible for Devon's conditions. Probably thought John was his pimp.

"Means he had it at some point, but his body was able to fight if off. There doesn't appear to be any damage to his liver from it either. Kid's unbelievably lucky. Everything else he has can be cleared up relatively quickly and it doesn't look like he's had any of it long enough to have done any serious damage. The trickiest thing is the gonorrhea because it's rectal. With a little more luck, he'll be fine in two weeks. After that, the only thing he has to worry about is the baseline HIV test. It'll take another few days for that one to come back. And even though it's a pretty accurate test, I'd recommend he take it again in six months. Just to be sure."

Two and a half weeks later, they were leaving another free clinic with a clean bill of health for Devon, who sprawled out obscenely on the passenger's side of the Impala. "You know, I'm disease free now. And shaved smooth." He smirked lasciviously and wiggled his eyebrows at John.

"Good for you. Want a prize?"

Devon's gaze flickered to John's crotch as he slowly and deliberately licked his lips. John had to admit the kid had really sexy lips as he tore his eyes away from them. "I think we both deserve one."

John shook his head to clear up the haze of sudden arousal and ignored the boy, turning up CCR. He was a little surprised to hear Devon singing along, and wasn't sure if it was more because the boy obviously knew the words to Bad Moon Rising, or because he actually had a decent voice.

The trip was taking longer than John anticipated, mainly because he now had another person to feed and clothe. He wasn't sure when he'd dropped the idea of taking Devon to Blue Earth, but he had at some point and keeping the boy meant he needed almost twice as much money as before. Though he missed his son and really didn't want to have to deal with the fall out, he was relieved that he'd be away from home for the anniversary of the fire. Sammy hated the fact that John wouldn't let go of their dead and didn't have any problem letting him know it. According to Sam, the fact that he didn't remember Mary and Dean meant that he should be allowed to pretend they never existed. That they hadn't been stolen from them both. And the fact that John could never let go, could never forget, somehow made him a horrible father.

As was his custom, John got shitfaced on anniversary of the fire. Though he did generally like to drink more than the average person, he usually kept actual drunkenness to once a year. All the things he locked up tight the rest of the year came out to torture him on this day every year and the only way he could live with the pain was to numb it. Because thinking about his beautiful wife and his perfect son and how he'd failed them was enough to kill him if he let it hit him full force. This one night, the night when the spirits of the dead roamed closest to the living, was the one time of the year that he couldn't keep his own ghosts buried and he was left to survive the only way he knew how. .

Later, he only remembered jumbled pieces of what happened after he left the bar. Stumbling into the hotel room after spending the entire evening at the bottom of a bottle. Finding Devon lying on his bed, watching some cartoon with characters who were going on about whizzing on an electric fence. Then he was lying on the bed having some sort of fucking breakdown. At some point, Devon was holding him and running his fingers through his hair like a mother soothing a child.

None of that explained why he woke up naked next to an equally naked Devon, though. He sat up so fast he had to clench his jaw against a sudden wave of nausea as he stared at the boy lying on his stomach next to him. His hangover muddled brain tried to fill in the missing pieces, and none of what it came up with was anything he liked much. And he _really_ didn't like how sore his dick felt, like it had been rubbed raw. The sudden flash of memory of tight heat sent a shudder down his spine that was equal parts desire and dread.

"What the fuck, Devon?"

The boy blinked up at him. "Can you be more specific, John?"

John narrowed his eyes slightly, not sure if the kid was playing dumb or if he sincerely didn't understand what the problem was. John would wager it was the later. The kid seemed so open and unashamed about sex, especially for someone who had obviously been abused, that the sex would probably be the last thing he would consider a problem. "What happened last night?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "You really gotta ask?"

"But… _how_…"

"I was pretty shocked you were able to get it up too as drunk as you were, but you managed. Boy, did you _manage_. Made me cum _twice_. You didn't cum, though. Just sorta passed out. You're heavy, man. Took me forever to get you off me. Probably didn't help that you were still _in_ me at the time." Devon's smile turned dirty, his tone making shivers run down John's spine. "And still hard as a fuckin' rock."

John grit his teeth as he tried to tamp down the fresh rush of arousal. "What did you do?"

"Hey, you're the one who started in with the kissin' and pawin', Mr. Grabby Hands. Either you're more into little boys than you thought, or you don't really think I'm a little boy." Devon rolled over onto his back and stretched like a cat, the covers sliding down to reveal more pale, freckled skin. He was still too skinny. There was no reason he should be this tempting with his bones sticking out like that. "You're just frustrated. I think we should try that again, and see if we can get you off too this time."

John gawked at the boy, his head splitting and his eyes dry and gritty, trying to make sense of what was going on. His cock, though… his cock twitched at the idea of being inside this boy and vague but definitely pornographic memories of the night before flickered through his mind again. And the sight of the boy's hairless pubes sent a fresh wave of want through him at the memory of how good he felt there, all smooth and soft. John's stomach had other plans.

Devon followed him to the bathroom, completely and shamelessly naked, and watched him heave into the toilet from the doorway. "Dude… that's so uncool. I give you my best pitch and you throw up." But he didn't really seem offended. He grabbed a face cloth and wet it with cool water from the tap, rung it out and placed it on the back of John's neck. It felt so good, John couldn't help leaning into it, into Devon. The boy ran the fingers of his free hand through the short hairs at the nape of John's neck in a way that reminded him of Mary so much that his heart twisted painfully in his chest. "You know, tomato juice or soup helps with hangovers. I can go get you some."

John groaned and straightened up, taking the cloth from Devon and wiping his mouth. "It's okay. I just need to stay hydrated. I'll be fine."

"So was it true? What you said about your wife and kid dyin' like that?"

John closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. It's true." For the first time, he realized that he was just as naked as Devon and he trudged back to his bed and crawled under the covers, Devon still right behind him. Like one of those puppies they tell you not to feed. John smiled slightly at the comparison. Devon was a lot like a puppy. Mischievous, playful, eager to please, and relentless.

"I'm sorry. That was fucked up. At least you still have the youngest one. I wish I still had somebody."

Suddenly, John felt like an ungrateful, selfish fuck. Not that he wasn't always thankful that Sammy had survived that night, even if he wasn't thankful that he had survived himself, but he hadn't even called the poor kid last night. He wiped his face with a hand only to look up and see Devon shoving a bottle of water in his face. He took it with a smirk. "Thanks. You auditioning for the part of house boy?"

"I'd settle for _kept_ boy."


	3. Come Along, Come Along with Me

**Title:** Rough Trade 3/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 5270  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_ A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. __Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Title taken from Up Around the Bend_ by Credence Clearwater Revival.__

**Chapter Two: Come Along, Come Along With Me**

"Devon…"

Dean cringed at the sound of his street name. It had always been something that he'd used to isolate himself from the reality of what he did. If the johns didn't know his name, they didn't really know _him_. They were doing those things to _Devon, _not Dean. It seemed like a silly distinction, but it was important. It helped keep him sane. For some reason, though, it bothered him to lie to John. Dean Winchester was dead, though. Had been dead for eleven years and he needed to stay that way. He didn't want his father or Sammy to ever know what he'd become. He didn't think he could handle his father knowing he was a whore. And Sammy was just a kid. An innocent kid who didn't need to be anywhere near something like him. If they hadn't already given up on him.

"No… hear me out. You obviously need someone to take care of you. And I need someone to take care of me. When you leave town, I'll be right back on the street. You saw what happens when I try to make money some other way. You got any idea how many times I get robbed? Or some john – no offense – decides not to pay me? Or just takes what he wants? Or thinks it's really hot to make me cr- to _hurt_ me? I'm a _whore_. Nobody gave a fuck what happened to me, until you showed up. I don't mind bein' yours, John. You… you haven't tried to hurt me this entire time. You fed me without expectin' anything. Dude, you bought me clothes and a jacket! Perfectly good ones with no holes or nothin'. And they don't even have sparkles or bare mid-drifts and shit. I like you, you obviously like me. What's the _harm_?"

"I'd be using you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Everybody uses people! I'd be using you to stay safe. Seriously, what's wrong with a mutually beneficial relationship?"

"You really want that? To be the boy toy of some man old enough to be your father?"

"Better 'en bein' the boy toy of any fuck comes along with a hard cock and a twenty. My life's already fucked, John. Not like you can make it any _worse_. But you can make it better. And I can make yours better. You were in pain last night and I helped you. Really, dude, you could use a regular piece of ass. I've never met anybody as uptight as you are. And not to blow my own horn, but I'm a _really good_ piece of ass."

"I was plannin' on keeping you anyway. And you don't have to be my 'regular piece of ass' to get me to do it."

Devon blinked at him owlishly. He would have been less shocked if John told him he was an opera singer. "Really?"

"Yeah. You do need someone to take care of you. And I'm willin' to do that. For free."

"_Why_?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. Because maybe I can't help everyone, but I'd like to help you if I can…if you'll let me. Because you're just a kid, even if you really are seventeen, and you've obviously been dealt a shitty hand. If somebody found my kid in your situation, I'd want them to help him. And I'd cut his dick off and shove it down his throat if he tried to take advantage of my boy."

"Okay… _graphic_! But you aren't taking advantage of me. I _want_ to take care of you too."

"Why would you wanna do that if you don't have to?"

"I'm not a kid. I'm not a virgin. I've probably fucked a hundred times more people than you have. You think we can put that genie back in the bottle? Besides, I like sex. Hell, I _love_ sex. I don't even want it most of the time I've had to have it, and I still get off. I _do_ want to have it with you, though. And you obviously want it with me whether you admit it or not. It would be a hell of a lot safer for me to get what I need from you then it would be to go out lookin' for it. I got lucky before, but if I have to go out looking to get laid my damn dick's probably gonna end up fallin' off."

"Not if you actually use condoms, genius."

Dean folded his arms and scowled at the older man. "Not my point and you know it."

"I don't know anything right now, Devon. I'm still too fucked up to think straight." John rubbed his stubbled face. Dean knew he just didn't have any good excuses left and wanted to wait until his head wasn't splitting so he could come up with more. "Either way, there will be rules."

Yeah. John definitely seemed like the 'rules and regulations' type. "Okay."

"If – and that's a _huge _fucking if – I take you up on your offer of sex, it has no bearing on you staying with me. You can say no anytime you want. I won't kick you out or punish you in any way."

That remained to be seen. You didn't just close your legs after you'd already bent over for a guy and expect no repercussions. But Dean didn't foresee changing his mind anytime soon. He'd be an adult soon and hopefully able to take care of himself by the time John got tired of him. "Alright."

"Absolutely no hustling."

Why the hell did John think he wanted to tag along? That was an easy one. "Check."

"You need to at least get your GED."

"What? Now that… might be a problem." Dean had never had much luck in school. Teachers usually hated him, and when his sick bastard of a foster father started sneaking into his room for a little one on one time, they'd all just written him off as a discipline problem. Not one of them had ever considered that maybe he needed help.

"You heard me. If you're gonna hold down a decent job you at least need a GED. Which leads to the third rule. You learn a trade."

Dean sighed, some of the shine of sticking with John rubbing off. Not enough to make him change his mind though. "Fine. But I fucking hate school. I'm not… I'm not book smart."

"You seem plenty damn smart to me. I'm sure you'll do fine. I'll help you. Maybe my son will too. Which brings me to my last rule."

Dean braced himself for the other shoe to drop. "Yeah?"

"I don't want my kid to know what you did before you came to live with us. It's more for your protection than anyone else's. He can be… hard on people. I can take it… I'm used to it. But I swear that kid gets better at pushing buttons the older he gets."

"You sure you just don't want me to corrupt him?"

The older man snorted softly. "Hell, if I ain't had any luck corruptin' the kid, I don't think you'll get anywhere either."

Dean laughed at that. "Yeah. Okay. So that's it? That's all the rules."

"For now. I reserve the right to make more as we go along."

"That's shocking."

"You hungry?"

"Starving."

John snorted. "Yeah… why did I even ask? Get some money out of my wallet and go get yourself something to eat."

Dean couldn't figure out if this was a test or if John was just crazy. Who trusted a hustler to go into his wallet and get money? And then come back? "You don't want anything?"

"Maybe some tomato soup. I hear it's good for hangovers." With that, John burrowed under the covers with his back to him. Dean stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds. He wasn't going to even _watch_? After a second's hesitation, he picked John's wallet up and pulled out a $20.

Dean spent the entire walk to the diner trying to make sense of what had happened, all the ways his life had changed in such a short amount of time. They'd stopped in three cities in two different states since he'd met John three weeks ago and the entire time, the man had kept his hands to himself all while still taking care of Dean. Since that first hotel room, he'd gotten double rooms so Dean even had his own bed. The first time he saw how many weapons the man had, a nervous thrill had gone through him and he started to rethink the idea that John was a serial killer. But now it was just one more quirk of an extremely quirky man who seemed to be supporting himself and his son through petty crime. Harmless would be the wrong word to use to describe John, but Dean believed that the man wouldn't hurt him. There was something familiar and safe about him that Dean couldn't put his finger on, but it was there and stronger than the wariness that life had beaten into him.

Even last night, the man had been aggressive in his neediness, but he had also been considerate and actually kind of sweet. Dean had even enjoyed the kissing, despite the fact that it was against his rules. And this guy was big and strong. He could protect Dean if he chose to. Hell, he had been keeping Dean safe for the past three weeks. It scared the hell out of Dean and he knew he shouldn't trust it, but John made him feel… special. Like maybe everything would be okay now, like maybe even he could get a second chance. He'd always daydreamed that his father would show up one day in the big black car with his mother and little brother and rescue him. That his family would love him and take care of him despite all the things he'd done and he'd have his home back again. It was a stupid dream, he knew. Nothing would erase what he was, would make him clean again or worth getting the time of day from his family. But he couldn't let go of the fantasy. So even though he knew that nothing came free, and that John couldn't possibly really care about him, he couldn't bring himself to walk away like he knew he should because this felt like it was as close as he was ever going to get to what he wanted.

It was an odd feeling, not being afraid. Even odder when part of him knew he should be. But it was almost like he just couldn't muster up the enthusiasm. He arrived at the diner and ordered a cheeseburger with everything, onion rings, a large strawberry malt, a large tomato soup and a meatloaf special just in case John decided he wanted something solid to eat after all. Sitting at the counter waiting for his order, he thought about the things that had led him to this, to begging some guy to keep him because he reminded Dean of his father.

Devon Waters had been a real person. He'd been Dean's foster brother and older by two years. He always tried to protect Dean from dear old foster dad; right up until the night he'd disappeared. He was never found and the official story was that he ran away. Dean never believed it because he was convinced that Devon would never have left him like that. It was two years later, when he was fourteen, that he managed to run away without getting caught and taken right back. He'd been living on the streets for a year and a half now, stealing and eating out of dumpsters for the first few months until a pimp found him. He'd already been raped twice and from his standpoint, at least with a pimp he'd have someone to protect him and make sure things didn't get out of hand.

It didn't work out that way, though. He had barely enough to eat most days, and only slut-wear to put on, even when it got cold out like it was starting to now. Fishnet shirts and skin tight pleather pants might look really good to johns, but they sucked out loud at keeping you warm in February. And his pimp liked to fuck him after he came home in the morning, liked shoving things in his used, red hole. Liked making him cry, told him he was pretty like that. If Dean talked back, which Dean did too often because he was obviously an idiot who never learned his damn lesson, he liked to beat him unconscious. He'd wake up on the cold floor, shoved in a corner so he was out of the way. Sometimes, when he didn't wake up on his own in time to get ready to go back out, his pimp would dump a bucket of cold water on him. Dean lost track of the concussions he'd had and he'd realized early on that he wouldn't last long. He was going to die young at the hands of either the johns or his pimp. Then his pimp got into it with a drug dealer and ended up stumped to death a month back.

Dean tried to go straight a few times after that, or at least as straight as he could with a shoddy fake identity, a baby face and no high school education in a town where everyone knew him as a whore. That had turned into a complete clusterfuck just about every time and John had saved him from the consequences of his latest attempt, which probably would have been a rough and bloody fuck in an alley.

The bottom line was he _needed_ John. And he felt safe with John, probably for the first time since he'd been four. And, yeah, he might be attracted to the older man. A little. John's sexiness kind of snuck up on you, but it was definitely there. The voice, the eyes, the broad shoulders, the stubble and that slow dimpled smile. Dean liked the scars and burns that he'd gotten trying to save his kid. Even the fact that he seemed to have no clue that he was sexy was sexy. So all in all, this was a good deal for him.

Better than anything else he'd had going for him since that scary ass yellow-eyed man had taken him from his family and threatened to kill Sammy if he ever told his last name or where he'd come from. Dean cringed at the memory. He hadn't spoken at all for a long time after that, had only written down his first name a month after landing in social services. He wondered if his family missed him, if his father had looked for him. Wondered if they'd just eventually given up and believed he was dead. He sighed and shook the thoughts off as he returned to the hotel. He wasn't ever going to see his family again, so he just needed to accept that and move on. Maybe being kept by some old guy wouldn't be a life his father would be proud of, but it was a damn sight better then what his life had been before.

Dean opened the door and plastered a bright smile on his face. "Hey, old man."

"Add that to the rules," the vaguely man-shaped lump on John's bed rumbled, sounding both irritated and mildly amused. That was another thing Dean liked. This guy always sounded amused underneath all his gruffness. Usually adults were complete jerks to him. "You call me 'sir.' Not 'old man'. Not 'Mr. Grabby Hands'."

Dean stopped in the middle of locking the door, because that was something he hadn't been expecting. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously. You also need to learn what I do if you're gonna be staying with us."

Okay, so maybe John wouldn't hurt him, but the dude was definitely batshit. Dean laughed when he told him about hunting evil things, thinking it was just a joke. A strange and twisted joke, yeah, but there was no accounting for some people's sense of humor. John turned bright red and glared at him silently for several minutes, long after Dean's laughter had choked off into uncomfortable throat clearing and then complete silence. Because, really, hunting evil?

That's how they'd ended up at a graveyard after John called his son to tell him that he'd have to be gone another week because things had changed and he needed a little more cash. The conversation must not have gone well because John was even surlier afterwards then he was before. This kid of his must be a real character. Dean really needed to get the guy laid before he burst a blood vessel.

"So uh, what're we huntin'," Dean asked casually, deciding it was easier to just play along.

"Ghoul," John answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I told you we had to be quiet?"

Dean snorted. "Met a lot o' those."

"Devon… shut it! And stay behind me."

"What if it sneaks up from the back," Dean whispered.

"It won't hurt you. Ghouls only eat the dead and this one's in bad shape. Otherwise I wouldn't've I brought you. I wanted you to see what I do but I didn't want to put you in any real danger."

"Then why the hell do I have to stay _behind_ you?"

"Devon!"

"Wait… They eat the _dead_? That's just gross…" Dean stopped when he realized he was actually taking this seriously. He sighed softly. Why did the first person to actually give a fuck about him have to be repressed, frustrated _and_ crazy? He stayed close to John though, because ghouls or not, graveyards were freaking creepy in the middle of the night.

He watched John make quick work of the lock on a crypt and enter. He hesitated for half a second before deciding that being out here without John was slightly worse than going inside with him. John led him through a labyrinth of passages to a wide open area that had other passages around it. Against the far wall was a rotting corpse. Only it was breathing. And staring at them. Dean swallowed hard and pressed himself against John's back. The thing lurched forward suddenly with a hiss, rotten teeth bared. John lifted the shotgun he was carrying and fired, all in one smooth, well-practiced move. The thing's head exploded and its body fell limply to the ground.

Dean backed away from John, eyes wide, and stumbled into the wall. "What the fuck, man?"

"That's one of the more harmless things that wander around in the dark, and that one was especially weak because I poisoned it last night."

"Poisoned it? Why didn't you just _kill_ it?"

"I can tell you about it all I want, let you read my journal and texts 'til it's comin' outta your ears… but people usually have to _see_ before they can believe. Even then it takes a certain kind of person to really accept it. So, I tracked it last night and pumped it full of poison. Ghouls might not be the deadliest thing I hunt, but they can still be extremely dangerous, especially when cornered."

Dean closed his eyes as a strong sense of vertigo washed through him and made him light headed and sick to his stomach. "This is really what you do?"

"Yeah. There ain't much money in it. So I have to make it in other ways to keep doin' it."

"But why? Why do this at all?"

"Because… who else is gonna do it?" John asked as if it was obvious, holding his arms out at his sides. "My wife and son died because there was nobody around to save them and I didn't know what dangers they needed to be protected from. For every one of these fuckers I kill, I save people from what my family went through. And the more I do it, the better I get so when I finally run down the thing that killed my wife and son? I can make him regret ever fucking with my family."

Dean nodded, still feeling slightly out of it. That made sense. "I think I liked it better when I thought you were crazy."

"Well… that still hasn't been completely ruled out." John offered him a self-deprecating smile. "Look, Devon, if you decide you can't deal with all this just let me know. I'll help you find somewhere else to go. Give you some money to get help you get on your feet."

Dean frowned and looked up at the man. "Why?"

"I told you… I want to help. Come on… we'd best be headin' out."

Dean was quiet most of the rest of the night. John left him to his own thoughts and sat for a while making notes in a leather-bound book. Dean studied him from his bed. The man looked tired. And Dean knew he was lonely. Like Dean was lonely. John took care of everyone around him. His kid, Dean, strangers who'd probably never know who the hell he was. But no one was taking care of him. And the fact that the guy wasn't actually crazy increased his stock, even if it made the world far more uncertain for Dean then when he just needed to worry about all the human monsters. Dean got up and crossed the room to stand next to John's chair.

"So… will you teach me to hunt?"

John stopped writing and turned his chair so he could look up at him, slouching. There was something about the casual way he sat there and the intensity in his gaze that sent a shiver up Dean's spine. "If it's what you want. All the other rules will still apply, but you'll at the very least learn how to defend yourself. You know how to handle a firearm?"

"Point and shoot?"

"I'll take that as a no," John replied with a smirk. "We'll start with the basics tomorrow."

"Okay," Dean said as he pulled off his shirt.

"What're you doin'?"

"I think you need to relax. I definitely know how to handle that," he said with a wink as he slid gracefully to his knees between John's splayed legs.

"Devon…"

"It's okay," he breathed out, hands on the tops of John's thighs and stretching so that his eyes were at the level of John's nose, looking up at him through his lashes. "I want you. I mean, unless you're gonna let me go out and get laid tonight, it's just really cruel and unusual punishment to deny me sex." He pressed his thumbs gently into John's inner thighs and traced slow circles against the denim, felt the older man shiver. "I don't deserve to be punished, do I? I've been a very good boy the entire time I've been with you. And really," he smirked and dropped his voice an octave, "if you wanna punish me, there are so many more fun ways to do it. Belts… whips…"

"You're just a kid." John didn't sound convinced, though.

"No… 'm not. You _know_ that. And you want me. You wouldn't have fucked me two days ago if you didn't."

"I was drunk and grieving… and you don't have to do this."

Dean scraped his nails against the older man's inseam. "I know. Maybe that's why I want to so bad. Usually whether or not I have sex or who I have it with ain't my choice. But this is. And I want it. Wanna taste you, feel you inside me again."

John closed his eyes and sighed out a long breath before cupping Dean's face in his huge hands. A shiver ran down Dean's spine. John was such a big man and he had never felt so safe with a man so much bigger than he was. Had never felt safe with anyone in so long he barely remembered what it felt like enough to put a name to it, but it felt oddly familiar at the same time. Dean turned his head to take John's thumb into his mouth, sucking on it the way he wanted to suck John's cock. The older man moaned, his eyes darkening with lust. He ran his other thumb along Dean's lower lip as Dean began to slowly open John's fly. He reached inside and found John hard and leaking precum. He wrapped his fingers around the thick, heavy length and began to stroke slowly.

John pulled his thumb free and Devon leaned down, licking at the head of John's cock, running his tongue slowly up and down the vein on the underside and tonguing at the slit. Without warning, he swallowed John down whole. John was big, and he had to really work at suppressing his gag reflex as he swallowed around the head. He felt John's fingers running along his scalp in a vain attempt to get a grip on his hair, and the tension in the older man's body as he kept himself from thrusting into Dean's mouth. Dean lifted off slowly until only the head was in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the spongy tip, slid it across the slit, and then swallowed the shaft down again, humming as he did. Over and over, slowly and methodically pushing John to the edge of orgasm, precum and saliva escaping his mouth and dripping off his chin, never taking his eyes off John's.

When Dean knew the older man was close, he pulled off, thumb pressed into the base of John's cock to choke off his orgasm, and John growled low in his throat. "Devon!"

"Want you to cum when you're inside me. Please John? Please fuck me." Dean stretched up until his face was only inches from John's. John growled again and pulled him into a rough kiss. It was even better than Dean remembered and he melted into it.

John gripped Dean's biceps and pulled the boy to his feet as he stood without breaking the kiss and walked him backwards until the backs of his legs hit something solid. John pushed him onto the bed and stood looking down at him as he slowly took off his shirts. The older man wore so many damn layers and Dean was impatient… but he forced himself to lay there and watch.

"You sure you want this?" Dean couldn't ever remember being this turned on by the sight of an aroused man before. John was heavily muscled, his skin deeply tanned. His cock was dark and proud, curving up from his open fly and back towards his belly button, still shining with Dean's spit and his own precum. He was looking down at him with those expressive dark eyes filled with want… and it was different than the hunger that he usually saw in men's eyes. It was like John actually thought he was worth something. Dean bit his lip to suppress a whimper as a thrill went through him and his hips thrust forward, blindly seeking friction that wasn't there.

"Please." Dean's voice was broken and desperate.

John toed off his boots and shed his jeans and underwear before crawling onto the bed. Dean traced the muscles of John's arms as he opened Dean's fly and pulled his jeans and underwear off in one go. Dean spread his legs, his hard cock dripping precum and begging for attention. John stretched out over him and took his mouth in a demanding kiss again, pressing their erections together. Dean moaned into his mouth and wrapped his legs around his waist.

John pulled away, breathless, still rutting against him, and closed his eyes like he was trying hard to think. "Don't we need… lube and condoms and shit for this?"

Dean laughed breathlessly. "Good memory. In my bag."

"You have to let me go if you want me to get it."

Dean unwrapped his arms and legs, and watched John move towards their bags, sitting on the floor by the bathroom door. "Outside pocket." Dean followed him with hooded eyes as he pulled out the lube and a condom and returned to the bed. John tossed the condom on the bed next to Dean's hip and opened the lube as he crawled between Dean's legs.

Dean shivered at the feeling of cool, slick fingers teasing at his hole. John leaned over him to kiss his jaw and neck as he pressed a finger inside. Dean groaned and pushed back against it. It was good, but it wasn't enough. Dean grunted in frustration and John added another finger and began to expertly and gently open him.

"Done this before?"

"Didn't I do this the other night?"

Dean shook his head. "I did it."

John groaned softly and kissed him on the temple, gently smoothing back his hair. Dean shivered. He knew he shouldn't believe that John really cared about him, but it was difficult when he touched him like this. He wasn't used to tenderness. Most guys just bent him over and fucked him 'til they came. Whether or not he enjoyed it hardly ever mattered and when it did it was just to boost the john's ego, but some of them didn't want him to enjoy it, liked hurting him and making him cry. He closed the door on his thoughts before they could become something more. Having a flashback right now would be very counterproductive.

"We'll have to do that again, when I'll remember," John murmured against the side of Dean's face. The older man paused, and then returned to Dean's question. "I may have done this once or twice before." John hit his prostate and Dean yelled out and arched off the bed. "Devon?"

"'M cool," he gasped out. "Hit my prostate. Wasn't expectin' it."

John raised an eyebrow and did it again. Dean's reaction wasn't as pronounced as before, but he was sure it was still obvious that he liked it. John took his mouth in another kiss and kept hitting the spongy gland until Dean was a mess, spilling embarrassing noises into John's mouth. He pulled his fingers free without warning and slicked himself up before slowly pushing inside Dean, and Dean wrapped himself around him again. John groaned as he bottomed out and was still for a few seconds to let them both adjust. "How the _fuck_ did I not cum last time?"

Dean snorted, please and amused. He did special exorcises every day to make sure he stayed tight. Whores didn't make much money when they let themselves get all loose. John's reaction made all that effort worth it. "Dude, you were wasted. Fucked me like _forever_. Then just passed out and started snorin'."

John let out an amused huff. "I don't think that's in the cards this time around. You feel fuckin' _amazing_." He began a slow, deep rhythm, finding Dean's prostate on the third thrust and nailing it with every one after that.

"More… harder…" Dean dug his fingers into John's back and met every thrust.

John braced himself and thrust harder and deeper, licking and sucking at Dean's neck. "So fuckin' good, sweetheart."

It was the endearment almost as much as it was the slow buildup and the way John was relentlessly working his prostate that finally pushed Dean over. Dean screamed out his release and John went stiff and muttered a curse as he came too. John collapsed on his side so his weight wasn't on Dean, his face buried in the side of Dean's neck.

"Was that what you wanted, Devon?"

Dean's heart ached at the sound of someone else's name. He had no idea why it should bother him since it was the name John thought was his, but it did. "No. It was better."

Dean felt John relax even more as he pulled back enough to look down at him. "So you really want this?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Okay…" John pulled out of him gently, holding onto the condom and tossing it in the trash before settling on his back and pulling Dean into his arms. "Okay." Another kiss was dropped on top of his head. Dean fell asleep feeling safer than he had since he could remember.


	4. Fools Count Their Problems

**Title:** Rough Trade 4/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong>  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title taken from _All I Want Is You_ by by Michael Franti. _

**Chapter Three: Fools Count Their Problems **

"That kid's 17 my ass," Bobby groused with a shake of his head, nose still buried in a book that looked about an inch from turning to dust in his hands.

John leaned casually against the wall next to his friend's desk. Bobby's bark was a lot worse than his bite as long as you weren't a supernatural creature, and John was one of the few people that had never been afraid of the man. Still, he wasn't as relaxed as he seemed. He'd already known that Bobby wasn't going to like his relationship with Devon and as much as it pained him to admit, the older hunter's opinion of him actually mattered. It didn't help that Bobby's words were an echo of his own not too long ago. "I checked out his name, Singer. He disappeared a few years back from his foster home. Been on the streets tryin' to survive since."

"If that's his real name."

John sighed. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of that. "He's got no reason to lie now. I talked to him about it while I was out with the car. Poor kid got all rattled. I don't know everything that happened to him, but I believe him. Devon Waters was put in the system after his parents were killed in an accident that he survived. Kid just looks a little younger than he is. Probably a blessin' and a curse. Sit down and talk to him, and you'll swear you're talkin' to a thirty year old."

"That how you justify havin' sex with him, Winchester?" Bobby leveled him with a hard look over his glasses.

John gritted his teeth. Bobby was too damn perceptive. Not that he was planning on hiding his relationship with Devon from anyone, including Sammy, but he didn't like being made out to look like some sort of fucking child molester. "You think I held him down and forced myself on him?"

Bobby sighed. "No."

"You think I'm just gonna keep him around like a god damned sex toy?"

"Never said that."

"Then what he and I do is none of your damned business."

Bobby huffed out a breath. "Don't call me when you get your ass thrown in jail for statutory rape, Winchester."

John disregarded that… Devon would only be underage for another couple of months anyway. For someone used to spending years under the radar, a couple of months shouldn't be too big a deal. "About that... we kinda need papers for the kid. Need somethin' sayin' he's my son so he can take some classes."

"Jeezuz, Winchester... ain' you got no shame?"

John smirked at his old friend. "Well, no, not really."

John came out of Bobby's office expecting to find Devon waiting for him, but found no trace of him on the first floor. Sammy was sitting in front of Bobby's ancient television in the living room, pointedly ignoring John's presence. "Sammy? Where's Devon?"

Sammy looked up at him from underneath a mop of too long and unruly hair, brow furrowed in a scowl. "In the bathroom. Is he really coming with us?"

"Yes, he is," John said with the futile hope that his stubborn son would let it go at that. But really, he should know better by now.

"Why?" That was Sam's favorite question and he asked it as often as he possibly could. How was it that one word could annoy him so much?

John pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to be silent for a few seconds, enough time to answer calmly rather than with the sarcasm that he was so prone to when he was irritated. "He doesn't have anywhere to live. We're just gonna help him get on his feet."

"And then he's leaving?"

"If he wants," John said as he crossed his arms, not comfortable at all with the thought of Devon ever leaving.

Sam rolled his eyes, folded his arms and went back to glaring at the television. "It's not like _we_ really have somewhere to live."

John sighed. He'd been working on the Impala all day out in the cold and all he wanted was a hot shower, a cold beer, and a bed. Was that really too much to ask for? He was much too tired right now for the mental stamina that arguments with Sammy usually required. "Well, even when we gotta sleep in the car that's still a damn site better then under a bridge or on a park bench, kiddo. Unless you wanna actually _try_ sleepin' on a park bench so you can have all the necessary data to compare. I could drop you off… let you spend a few nights."

Sam briefly redirected his glare at him, but said nothing. He took that as a victory, however temporary, and went upstairs to check on Devon. There was no answer when he knocked on the closed door at first, and John started to get worried. He tried the handle but found it locked.

"Devon? Can you hear me?" Still nothing. After the way the kid had been on the edge of falling completely apart before in the yard, John was more than a little worried. What if the boy had done something to himself? "Answer me, or I'm breakin' down the door."

"I just… I need a few minutes, okay?"

John let out a sigh of relief. The kid sounded shaky, but at least he was responding now. "Yeah. I was just… You been in there a while and when you didn't answer… you sure you're okay?"

Devon finally opened the door, looking pale, his eyes red rimmed. John put his hand on his forehead and the boy leaned into his touch. "You feel a little clammy. Upset stomach?"

The boy shrugged. "Just… not feelin' well."

"Somethin' you ate?"

Devon shook his head. "Don't think so."

"Are you… are you upset about the things we talked about earlier? About your past?" Something about the way Devon wouldn't look at him and didn't answer let John know that he was right. The kid wasn't sick because of anything physical. He'd tied himself up into knots stressing out over shit. John pulled the boy into a hug and rubbed his back. "You're safe with me now. None of that shit matters anymore."

"You sure you wanna do this? Wanna take me with you? I probably shouldn't be around your kid."

"You're not plannin' on bringin' strange men home, are ya?"

Devon snorted softly. "No."

"Then it'll be fine. You're not some dirty little secret that needs to be hidden away from polite society. 'Sides, in case you haven't noticed, we ain't exactly polite society anyway." John pulled away enough to look at Devon's face. The boy was frowning like something was still worrying him. John sighed. One talk wasn't going to erase years of abuse. He smoothed out the creases in the boy's forehead with his thumb.

"I still want you," the boy said, sounding surprised and frightened as he looked up at John with big, liquid eyes.

Desire pooled in John's gut and he groaned softly as his mouth went dry. "That's really good to hear, since I still want you too."

"Yeah?" The boy still sounded a little shell-shocked, but now a note of hopefulness was in his voice too.

"Yeah."

Devon bit his lip and looked out into the hall before pulling John into the bathroom. John closed the door and locked it before taking the boy in his arms again and kissing him. This was probably the stupidest, most reckless thing he'd ever done in his life. Well… outside of a hunt. It would serve him right if he found Bobby on the other side of the door with his shotgun after this.

"Please," Devon whispered into his mouth, and thoughts of anything outside the room faded into nothing. "Need you… please…"

"Shhh…" John kissed him again, gently. He hoped allowing this relationship to be sexual wasn't the wrong thing to do. This kid was so damaged, and his self-esteem was so bound up with his sexuality, that he wasn't sure which would do it more harm - giving sex or denying it. On the one hand, giving him sex could reinforce the idea that his body was the only thing anyone cared about. On the other, all he'd feel was rejection if John refused him. He wouldn't understand John's reasoning, wouldn't care about the nuances. Through it all, John wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't making excuses for his apparent inability to resist. The boy was so desperate though, pressing against him and moaning into the kiss. And John wanted this so badly he could barely think, so badly that he was just as desperate as Devon and he couldn't even begin to sort out the right and wrong of it objectively.

He unzipped the boy's pants so he could reach inside to pull out his hard cock with a firm grasp and slowly stroked it, using the boy's own precum as lubrication. Devon whimpered and melted against him in a way that only made John harder, more desperate. He felt Devon's hand cupping him, quickly finding and pressing against the head of his cock through his jeans. He groaned against the boy's mouth, deepening the kiss and swallowing as much of the noise the kid was making as possible. Bobby was _so_ going to shoot him. That was the last coherent thought he had as Devon's nails raked over the head of his cock through his jeans.

He felt nimble fingers open his fly and grasp his cock. It was hard to think of this as wrong with how right it felt to stand here tasting and smelling and feeling this boy, listening to him whimper and beg so pretty, wanting him so badly it felt a lot like need. Something he hadn't felt in so many years that it felt brand new and overwhelming and irresistible. John felt the boy go stiff an instant before he was coming. Devon went lax, head lolling against John's shoulder, as he continued to jack John off. John wrapped his hand around Devon's, the boy's cum lubricating the hand job as their fingers intertwined.

"Come on, John. Cum for me," Devon whispered against his neck as he began to lick and kiss at John's sweaty skin, his hot breath sending shivers down John's spine. John pulled Devon's head back with his free hand and bit the boy's neck at the spot where it curved into his shoulder as he came.

John held the boy close and kissed him again. "We need to clean up."

Devon snorted. "Yeah. I don't think we can go downstairs like this."

When John left the bathroom, Devon in tow, he was pretty sure that Sam had some idea of what they had been up to from the look the boy gave them. John had never seen an eleven year old look so scandalized in his life. Bobby waiting on the other side of the bathroom door with a loaded sawed-off suddenly seemed preferable.

"Devon, why don't you go get somethin' to eat?"

Devon raised his eyebrows hopefully. "I can do that?" He seemed shocked at the idea that he could just go get food when he wanted to.

"Sure. As long as you don't make a mess and you clean up after yourself." The kid was gone before he finished his sentence. When he could see through the vapor trail the boy laid down on his way to the food again - and why did he think he'd come to regret giving the boy carte blanche with the fridge? - he turned to face his son, arms held out. "Okay… hit me."

Sam frowned at him like John was an idiot. "What?"

"You got something to say. Just say it so we can get this over with."

"Is he even legal?"

John cocked his head at the boy. He hadn't expected him to take that route. "Depends on what you call legal. He's above the age of consent, although that's usually only for someone within five years of his age, depending on the state. But he'll be eighteen in about a month."

"So… you're having sex with some underage street kid?"

John sighed. Nobody could make the truth sound as ugly as Sammy could. "Yeah. But that's not why we're givin' him a place to stay and helpin' him get his life together. I was gonna do that anyway. The… the sex came after my decision to help him." John stumbled on the word 'sex.' This was even harder than having the whole sex, condoms and respect talk with the boy, and that was saying one hell of a lot. The entire time, Sammy had just sat there and stared at him like he couldn't believe that John was saying those things to him. Like the whole ordeal was injuring the boy's delicate sensibilities. "And yeah, it's unconventional and a lot of people would say it's wrong. I already explained to you about attraction, and how the only thing that matters in a relationship is that the two people in it want the relationship and that they're both mature enough to handle it."

"But he's a teenager! How could he _possibly_ be mature enough? You're old enough to be his father."

John grit his teeth. He was sure that once Devon got on his feet and realized that he was gorgeous and smart enough to have several options, he'd dump John's ancient carcass. He really didn't need Sammy pointing that out for him. "While it's true that I'm old enough to be his father, I thought this through and I talked it out with Devon. He's been on his own for a few years and he can make his own decisions. You're objections have been duly noted, but what Devon and I choose to do is between the two of us. You don't get a vote in the matter of my sex life, Sammy."

"That's not fair!"

He huffed out a slightly amused breath "Life's not fair. Get over it."

"But since when are you _gay_?" Sammy was clearly not ready to drop the argument, and John had to admit it was a valid point. He'd always been open with his son about sex and sexuality and he was sure that from all that they'd discussed, the kid knew for certain that he'd never been attracted to men before. "Was Mom a beard?"

John frowned at the boy. He wasn't sure what was more disturbing… that the kid actually knew what a beard was in that sense, or that he really thought John would do something like that. "I don't even know what to say to that, Sam. I loved your mother. She wasn't… she was _never_ anything less than the one person on earth I wanted to spend my life with. And no… I'm not… I'm not gay."

"In case you haven't noticed, Devon's a _boy_. Despite the slightly girly sounding name."

"Yes, Sammy. I noticed." John sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. He'd known this wouldn't be easy, but he'd clearly underestimated how hard it would be. This whole situation was going to be a hard sell with Sammy. But he couldn't just abandon Devon, not now when the kid finally seemed to think things were looking up for him. And after how intense things were in the bathroom not ten minutes ago, John was sure that he wouldn't really be able to keep his hands to himself. Trying to hide it wouldn't work with a kid as perceptive as Sammy and thinking that John was ashamed of him would probably be bad for Devon. How the hell did John get himself into these situations? "Sometimes… sometimes things don't fit into neat categories. Life is messy and you end up in situations or relationships you never thought you would. That doesn't make it _wrong_, or invalidate everything else that came before. What's goin' on between me and Devon doesn't reflect at all on what I had with your mother. I can't explain to you why I'm attracted to him, it took me by surprise too. It just… is what it is." And God, was it just him, or was he fucking _drowning_ here?

Sammy rolled his eyes, clearly thinking John had finally gone around that bend that he'd been threatening to for the past eleven years. "You don't even know where he's been!"

Who knows… maybe the kid was right. This whole thing with Devon did feel an awful lot like insanity. But it was also the first time that he didn't feel like a goddamn block of ice since the fire. It had been a long time, and he'd forgotten how good it felt to actually _want_ someone this badly, to _feel_ this much for another person. And even if it did make him a stupid selfish bastard, he didn't want to go back to being dead inside. John sighed and sank onto the arm of the couch. "I have a pretty fair idea. And just like I expect you to when you decide to have a sexual relationship with someone, we visited a clinic and got tested. That is the last time I expect you to bring that up. Am I clear Sammy?" The boy huffed out an angry breath. "Samuel, am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

John sighed at Sammy's sarcastic tone. It had always been his goal to make sure that his only remaining son grew up fast so he could fend for himself sooner rather than later, but he wasn't sure this side effect was worth it. "Good. Devon's been through a lot, and I'm not gonna have you torturing him because things happened to him that he couldn't control."

"Yeah. I know all about things happening that you can't control," Sammy said sullenly as he returned his attention to the television, effectively dismissing him.

"Then you should be able to relate, shouldn't you?"

Silence. And John left the room feeling like the universe was somehow out of balance. He'd gotten two victories with his son in one day. No doubt, Sam would find a way to make him pay dearly for each one.

Dean was stressed out. He'd been studying for five hours straight. Sammy was a worse slave driver then John on a bad day, and that was saying a lot. The kid didn't hide the fact that he had no use for him, and Dean couldn't say he blamed him. He was a retired prostitute and John's current live-in piece of ass. That would probably be enough to make any kid like Sammy resentful. But while Dean didn't fault the kid for his attitude towards 'Devon,' he hated the way he treated John. The man was obviously killing himself trying to keep food on the table and keep Sammy safe in a world that Dean knew from firsthand experience was dangerous and unforgiving. And now he was taking on that burden for Dean as well. He refused to let Dean help with his scams, insisting that Dean spend his time preparing to get his GED and learning how to use the weapons. Then he was going to make sure that Dean found a real job. John was a good man, and a real life hero to boot. He didn't deserve the way Sammy treated him.

Dean sighed in relief when Sammy finally let him go for the day. He left the kitchen to find John sprawled out on the couch in front of the television. A thrill of fear curled its way up his spine as he recalled the moment he realized that John was his father.

_They'd pulled up behind the Impala and Sammy had come running out of the house, the long absence making him momentarily happy to see his father again. Sammy and the car jogged something loose in Dean's memory and he stared at John for a long moment. He didn't know how he'd missed it. The beard was new, and he wasn't quite as imposing and bearlike as he'd seemed when Dean was four, but there was no denying it now that he was looking for it. The fact was clinched when Bobby Singer walked out bellowing 'Winchester.' That had been Dean's last name, the name the man that stole him told him never to tell anyone. A little subtle probing revealed that the name of John's firstborn son was Dean, and he'd died on All Hollow's Eve at the age of four when Sam was six months old. All the pieces fit. _

_After introductions were made, Dean sat out in the yard with John, watching him work on the Impala, feeling like he was stuck in some nightmare version of _déjà vu_. His most vivid memories of his father were when he was watching him work on the car and singing along with the music. John asked him questions about his past, about his real name. Dean fed him Devon's history on autopilot as he slowly fell apart. He was fucking his own father. If there was ever any doubt that he was a slut, that pretty much killed it. He was fucking his own father and if he ever told the truth, John would toss him out like yesterday's trash. Who wouldn't be disgusted by that? _

_And what if the yellow-eyed man found out that he was with his family again? Would he come kill Sammy, like he promised? Sure, Sammy seemed like a bit of a jerk, but he was still _Sammy_ and it was still his job to watch out for him. _

_The worst part, though, was the moment he realized that the wife John'd been talking about, the one he'd lost in a fire, was his _mother_. Dean had survived the fire that John thought he'd died in, but Mary hadn't because John had seen her burning. Dean would never see his mother again. Never sit in the kitchen and watch her bake. Never listen to Dad tease her that it was a good thing she made such good pie since she was a disaster at cooking anything else, never hear her tease him that she wasn't going to feed him if that's what he thought of her cooking. Never hug her again; never smell that mix of perfume and shampoo that surrounded her. As long as he hadn't known where she was, there had been hope. But now… Something just broke in him as the reality that she was lost to him forever hit home and his meltdown suddenly picked up steam until he was an inch away from a full on panic attack. _

_John told him they didn't have to talk about it anymore and asked if he was alright. Dean had shot to his feet and asked if he could take a leak. He needed to be alone, needed to be away from John and the car and Sammy and all his memories of the past and all the reminders of what a fuck up he was. John led him inside the house and directed him to the bathroom. Dean took the stairs two at a time and locked the door behind him. He cried with his hand clamped over his mouth until he made himself sick, then he threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach. He flushed the toilet and rinsed out his mouth, but he still couldn't go out there. He sat on the floor in the corner, trying to figure out what he was going to do. That's when John had arrived and Dean realized that he still wanted him. And wasn't that just the most fucked up thing ever? John held him like he was important and spoke to him so… _kindly_. He didn't even want to imagine what that kindness would turn into if John learned the truth. So he'd decided that the truth could do nothing but mess all this up. Since messing this up was the last thing he ever wanted to do, that meant the truth could never come out. _

Dean pulled himself out of his memories and crossed the room to sit on the couch next to John, molding himself against the older, larger man's side. John shifted to accommodate him and wrapped one arm around him, fingers absently carding through his hair. Dean sighed contentedly as he slid a hand underneath John's t-shirt and slowly ran his fingers through the hair on John's chest and stomach.

"Your kid's a freaking sadist," Dean finally said after several minutes of comfortable silence.

John snorted. "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Hmm… I find your body hair incredibly sexy?" Dean tugged playfully at several strands underneath John's belly button as he tilted his head back to look up at John.

John bent his head down for a kiss as he cupped Dean's ass. Dean smiled into the kiss, fingers of his free hand slipping into John's silky hair and fisting around a handful of it, careful not to actually pull. He teased the older man's belly button and he felt muscles flutter under his fingers.

"Dad, could you not do that in the living room?" Dean felt John go still at the grating sound of Sam's voice.

"What's a matter Sammy," he asked his little brother. "Me 'n' Daddy're just… gettin' to know one another."

John buried his face against Dean's shoulder, snickering.

"Dad!"

"What, Sammy? I'm not gonna hide in my own house."

"So I have to watch this?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, relax. It's just a little makin' out. We both still got our clothes on and everything."

Sam huffed out a breath and stomped back to his room, slamming the door shut.

"Shit…"

"What? We're not gonna kiss at all in front of him? He knows what we do in your room. Or at least he has a general idea."

"Our room. It's _our_ room. And it's just a little hard on him. He's never seen me with anybody."

"Really? Never?"

John shook his head. "He was a baby when Mary died. Since then, there hasn't been anybody else. I'm not the… fleeting relationship type, and the few times I've been with someone else, it wasn't something I'd bring into my regular life."

Dean swallowed hard. He wanted to ask why him… what was different about him, but he couldn't. He didn't know if he could handle hearing the wrong answer. Wasn't even sure he knew what the _right_ answer was. "Yeah, well, this is officially the longest running relationship I've ever had. If by relationship you mean something I want too." He straddled John's lap. "He'll get used to it. I mean… if you want him to."

John leaned against the back of the couch and rubbed Dean's thigh. "Yeah… I want him to."

Dean smiled and kissed him, wrapping his arms around the older man's neck. Now that was a right answer.

If he wasn't hitting the books with Sammy and the tutors John hired, he was learning to hunt. Dean's body was changing from scrawny, half starved street kid to heavily muscled teenager who looked like he could take care of himself. He even grew three inches. He had no idea that he could get this much bulk and muscle definition at fifteen, though it was a good thing that he could. It made the lie about him being seventeen a lot more believable. And people were a lot less likely to question his age now. He still had the baby face, but his body no longer matched. He also learned that he had a natural aptitude for guns and hand-to-hand combat. He thrived on praise from John, who didn't exactly give it freely but that just made it all the more special. The sparing and other training often led to really hot sex too. So as far as Dean was concerned it was all win/win.

Today, John was teaching him to shoot with a sniper rifle. John had his arms wrapped around him, manhandling him into the proper stance and grip. There was something about being manhandled by his father that turned him on faster than anything else. Dean leaned back against John's chest and felt John's hard on pressing against his ass.

John adjusted his stance behind him, putting more distance between their bodies. "Devon…"

Dean pressed against him again. "Daddy."

He heard Sam huff from somewhere behind them. "Just get a freaking room already!"

The thing was, Sam was right. They wouldn't be able to concentrate unless they let off some steam. They were both already hard. Dean looked at Sam hopefully over John's shoulder – and how cool was it that he could actually see over John's shoulder now?

Sam huffed out another breath. "Fine! I'm gonna go take a whiz. A nice twenty minute long whiz," he intoned as he stomped off into the underbrush and out of sight.

Dean smirked. "I got lube in my pocket, Daddy."


	5. Dreams of Dragon's Fire

**Title:** Rough Trade 5/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong>  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title is taken from _You Make It Real _by James Morrison._

**Chapter Four: It Gets Hard to Breathe **

John hadn't expected the bad dream when it came. He'd just been thinking how reasonably well-adjusted Devon seemed for someone who'd suffered the terrible abuse he had, when he was awakened in the middle of the night by plaintive begging and he knew instantly that there was nothing to be killed except some bad memories. The sound of it was worse than any sound he'd ever heard, and he'd heard some of the worst imaginable. He tried to reach out to wake the boy, huddled in a tight trembling ball next to him. Devon shrieked when John touched him and threw himself off the bed. John heard scrambling on the floor, than no movement at all. Just panting and begging. Still, the boy didn't seem to really wake up.

"Please stop! _Please_… I don't… it _hurts_! Please… I'll be good, I _swear_ I'll be _good_… _No_!"

John turned on the lamp, hoping that seeing his surroundings would snap the boy out of it. Devon had wedged himself into a corner and curled in on himself again, looking impossibly small and helpless.

"Dad?"

He looked up to see Sammy in the doorway, wide-eyed and pale. "He's just havin' a night terror, Sammy. I'm gonna try to calm him down. Go on back to bed now, son."

Sam glanced at Devon, huddled in the corner and then back at his father before giving a shaky nod and disappearing from sight. Boy must've thought he was killing Devon from all the screaming and crying. John took a deep breath and sat on the floor next to the boy. After Devon's begging stopped and the crying finally quieted down, he took a chance and put his hand on the boy's head. He cringed and shook harder but he didn't freak out again.

"Devon… it's me, sweetheart. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The boy peeked up at him with swollen bloodshot eyes. "Oh, god… did I… 'm sorry." He threw himself at John, straddling his legs. "I'll make it up to you." John's horror at the offer of sex, presumably to make up for the boy having a nightmare about being raped, must have shown on his face because Devon recoiled and looked suddenly hopeless. This kid was breaking John's heart all over again. "If you want me gone… can… would you mind if I tried to get some sleep first?"

"Gone? Baby… why would I want you gone?"

"Then you do want me to make it up to you…" Devon smiled at him, and John couldn't _not_ see the desperation in it. Devon's body was, in the boy's mind anyway, his only asset. The only reason he thought he was worth anyone taking an interest in him.

"You got nothing to make up for, baby," John said as he pulled the boy against his chest and just held him. He wanted to hunt down every bastard that had ever abused the boy and kill them slowly. Every last one. He prayed to a god he no longer believed in that he wasn't just compounding the all the wrongs that had been done to Devon.

"But I woke you up. I had one of my stupid dreams and… I freaked out again. That's not…that's not cool."

"I wish I could make up for all the shit you went through. What they did to you was wrong and evil and none of it was your fault. You ain't got a single thing to make up for, sweetheart. You're safe here, Devon. Safe with me. Nobody's ever gonna treat you like that again… and that includes me."

The sobbing was almost too quiet to hear at first, until Devon took a huge shuddering breath. John felt hot tears against his neck and he held the boy tightly as he cried until he fell into an exhausted sleep. John carried the boy to the bed and turned off the lamp before wrapping himself around Devon's limp form. It took him a while to fall asleep, and when he did the boy's cries haunted his dreams.

The next day, John awakened to the smell of bacon and coffee. The two most wonderful smells in the world. He followed them to the kitchen to find Devon cooking a huge breakfast while singing Aerosmith. The boy smiled at him over his shoulder.

"I made breakfast."

"So I see."

The boy flipped the pancake he was cooking, and then poured a cup of coffee. Devon brought the mug over to John and handed it to him with a kiss. Kisses and caffeine. That sounded like a good way to wake up to John. He lifted the mug to his nose and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. He moaned at the taste of the freshly brewed coffee.

"That's some good caffeine, baby."

Devon beamed at the praise as he began loading up three plates with food. Sammy came out dressed for school and looking weary. John couldn't blame the kid after the commotion of the night before. His eyes went wide as saucers at the sight of all the food. John ruffled his hair with a free hand, and the boy ducked away after a second's hesitation, meaning he actually liked it but would die before he'd admit it.

"Mornin' Sammy," Devon said cheerfully. John was pretty sure that Devon had no clue that Sam had seen any of what had happened. "Hope you're hungry."

Sammy was very hungry, as he often was in these days, and consumed an amazing amount of food. Devon volunteered to drop him off and school and gave John a quick kiss as he grabbed the keys from the table. The kiss turned into several quick kisses before he raced out the door after Sammy, who'd already walked out with an eye roll.

They didn't speak about it. John wasn't the talk about your problems kind of guy and he sensed that Devon wasn't either. There were nightmares after that, but they were few and far between. Every time the boy had one, John would calm him and hold him until he fell asleep again, whispering promises and reassurances and telling him that he was safe, that he deserved to be safe as John let him cry and cling to him like he might drown if he let go. The best part, though, was that Devon never offered to make it up to him again.

Dean felt content, all loose limbed and drowsy in the warm, dark comfort of their bed. He snuggled closer to John. This was the happiest he'd been since he was four years old. Even if he couldn't completely let his guard down, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Especially when John got into a mood. This new life was like a dream that he spent most of his time expecting to wake up from at any moment. Every once in a while he'd forget, and had to remind himself that nothing lasted, especially nothing good and that went double for him. He wasn't like Sammy. He let out an amused huff wondering what his kid brother must think about all this.

"What?"

"Just thinking of what Sammy's reaction had to be when he realized we were havin' sex."

John grunted. "Kid asked me if I was gay. I don't know what I am anymore."

"Aren't you bi?"

"Never been with a man until you… never wanted to be."

Dean frowned up at him. "But you said you'd done it before." He wished he could take the words back. He made it sound like he didn't believe John and that was never good. It was just that he was surprised, and maybe a little curious.

"When was this?" John lifted his head a little to frown down at him. Dean swallowed hard, fear fluttering in his stomach.

"You know… first time you opened me up for you." He hoped he didn't sound like he was challenging John or trying to call him out on something.

He felt John's body relax underneath him and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in relief. "Oh… I just meant that I'd had anal sex before. My wife used to like it."

And Dean hadn't expected that. "You're… you mean… _Mary_?"

"I used to open her up real gentle. She was such a tiny little thing, I was always afraid of hurtin' her. She used to get frustrated sometimes, tell me she wasn't made outta glass.'"

Dean was grateful for the darkness, for the fact that he was supposed to be exhausted and falling asleep. He didn't know what to say. He was in bed with his father, and listening to stories about his mother being a freak. Sure, _he_ was a freak, but that didn't mean he wanted to think about the possibility of having inherited that from anyone, let alone his _mother_. Hell, he wasn't even sure that he'd ever even considered the fact that his parents had obviously had sex with each other at all. But the fact that the John's only experience with anal was with a chick would explain why the older man was so surprised the first time he hit Dean's prostate.

John pulled him closer and he snuggled against the older man's larger frame. "So if you don't fuck men, why me?" Normally, he'd be too afraid to ask. Unfortunately it was the first thing that came out in his desperation to change the subject.

John made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded amused. "I don't know. I feel alive again when I'm with you." His voice was low and intimate, like he was sharing a huge confidence. Something a man like John would only say in the dark, in a moment when he'd let down all his defenses. "After everything I've been through, that's enough for me."

John snorted in satisfaction and shook his head as he peered down at the stopwatch. "You sure you never did this before?"

"Uhm… yeah. I mean. You taught me really well."

John showed him the stopwatch. 25.3 seconds. "First time I field stripped a firearm blindfolded, it took me a little under 38 seconds. You've got a gift for this."

Dean smiled. It was nice to think he might be good at something besides sex. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a good shot. Got a nice tight grouping on your first lesson. I can't wait to get you on a mat, see what you can do hand to hand. I suspect that you'll be good at that too."

"Well, I've always been good with my hands," Dean said suggestively. He liked hearing the compliments, but it made him feel like he was out of his depth. He was sure he'd end up disappointing John in the end. It was just a matter of time. And then John would hurt him or kick him out. Or maybe both. He pressed his hands flat against the table to keep them from shaking. If he was lucky, John would only hurt him. He could take a punch, or even a beating, but he didn't want to lose his father and Sammy again. That scared him even more than the thought of being on the streets again.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I bet. Let me show you how to field strip the other firearms."

Dean had been at Bobby's for a week, and already he missed John and Sam. He'd taken the GED test just so John could figure out how much more work he needed to do, and ended up passing it. Barely, but still. It was a shock to everyone that he'd been able to do it after only six months of studying. Even Sam had been proud of him, which somehow meant the most to him. It was the first time his little brother had been proud of him since the first moment he'd set eyes on him. So now he was here learning the finer points of car repair. John had taught him how to maintain and repair the Impala and said he seemed to have natural talent with it. Learning to fix cars fulfilled the learning a trade portion of their agreement. But Dean couldn't shake the feeling that John wasn't planning on coming back for him.

It would be one thing if he thought that John had just gotten tired of him. But the way John had made love to him the night before bringing him here, the way that he'd taken his time and held him and kissed him afterwards, told him that wasn't the case. If nothing else, Dean knew how to tell when someone was into him. John was trying to do what he thought was best for him again. The only problem was, he'd never asked what Dean wanted. On one hand, it was endearing that John wanted so badly to do right by him. On the other, it was frustrating as hell that he would never take his word for how to go about it. John was such a stubborn bastard, but he figured that was probably a common Winchester trait since every Winchester he knew was basically the same way.

"You alright, boy?"

"Yeah. Just miss home."

"Home?"

"John and Sam. And the Impala. Miss them."

Bobby watched him for a few seconds, but didn't reply. "Got a car out in the yard that needs a transmission rebuilt. Gonna take us about a week. We'll start tomorrow."

Dean sighed and nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Dad?"

His son's voice roused John out of the near stupor the endless blacktop had lulled him into. He was thinking about Devon, wondering what he was doing. If he was enjoying his independence. Wondering how long it would take him to find someone else. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"Is Devon coming back?"

John was silent, waiting for the pain that question brought to pass. Only it never really did. Just sat in his chest, making a nice comfortable home for itself. "Do you want him to?"

Sammy shrugged, which was as good as an enthusiastic yes. If the kid didn't want him back, he wouldn't hesitate to say so and remind John that he thought taking him in in the first place had been a rotten idea. But acknowledging that he wanted Devon back, that he'd actually come to like him and accept him as part of their family, would've been like an admission of being wrong. God forbid Sammy should ever admit to being wrong. _Wonder where he got that from_, John thought with a slight smirk.

"You can't cook," Sam finally said, as if that was the only reason he wanted Devon back.

"Wow. And it only took you five whole seconds to come up with that excuse."

Sam threw his father a glare. "Dude… you _can't_ cook."

"Yeah. I know. Devon's learning a legal, serviceable skill. I told you the whole point of taking him in was to give him a chance to make a good life for himself."

"But that doesn't mean he can't come back."

John suddenly felt a lump in his throat. Because it actually _did_ mean that. Devon deserved better than being his piece of ass, even if he was better than really good at it. John and Sam were stuck in this life, on the run from a demon. But Devon… Devon could have a _real_ life. Could find somebody to love him the way he deserved to be loved. Make a family of his own one day. "That's gotta be Devon's decision, Sammy. We've gotta give him enough space to make it, and respect it when he does."

There was silence in the car for a few moments. "You were happier when he was around."

He reached over and stroked his son's curly brown hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon I was."

Three months later, Bobby was happy enough with Dean's progress to recommend him for a job at a nearby garage. The offer even came with a small apartment above the garage. His own money, his own place… it was everything John had promised him, but nothing he wanted.

"I don't want it, Bobby. I mean… I appreciate all your help and the fact that you would put yourself out there for me. Vouched for me and all. But 'm goin' back on the road with John."

Bobby frowned at him like he'd sprouted a second head and he half expected the old hillbilly to call him an 'ijit.' "You sure that's what you wanna do? You got options now."

Dean smirked. "_Always_ had options. Never any as good as this, but I still had 'em. I know what you think. Same thing Sammy thinks. Same thing everybody who knows about me and John thinks. That I had sex with John so he'd keep me. But that's not true. Well… maybe that was part of it at first, but I didn't have to stay. I did it 'cause I wanted to, 'cause I wanted _John_. 'Cause…" Dean couldn't bring himself to tell Bobby that he loved John. He paused and swallowed hard before continuing. "'Cause… John's a good man and he needs me as much as I need him. He kept every promise he ever made to me. I was happy with him. And he kept me safe."

"I hope you know what you're doin', kid."

"I do."

Dean got drunk that night. Bobby was as liberal about underage drinking as John was but only with beer, and he sat out in the yard drinking and watching the moon move across the sky. It had been nearly three and a half months since he'd so much as spoken to John. He wouldn't answer calls from Dean's phone, or Bobby's house phone. So Dean had 'borrowed' Bobby's cell when the man went to bed. He was betting that John would answer, figuring it was how he kept tabs on Dean. His father was too much of a control freak not to keep up with his progress. Besides, Bobby was John's best friend, even if neither man would own up to it. They were communicating with each other somehow. He paced as he drank his fourth bottle of beer, Bobby's phone clutched in his free hand, anger and fear and pain twisted up so tight in his gut he could barely think straight. When he finally felt he had enough liquid courage pumping through his system, he dialed John. The man answered halfway through the second ring.

"What the hell, Singer?" John sounded gruff, alarmed and annoyed all at once. His voice had the gravelly quality it always did when he was awakened out of a deep sleep. Not that it wasn't always gravelly, but it was even better when he was still half asleep. Dean felt arousal pool in his gut alongside his fear, anger and frustration, remembering how he'd sometimes wake John up with a blowjob just to hear him call him 'baby' or 'sweetheart' in that voice. It had been so damn long…

"You son of a bitch." There was silence on the other end. "You fucking _asshole_! I was with you 'cause I _want_ to be with you. And if you don't fucking come pick me up, I will hitchhike all over the damn country to every possible hunt I see in the paper until I find you."

"Devon… you know that's not safe." John sounded wide awake now, and more than a little alarmed.

Dean wiped at the wetness on his face. When the hell had he started crying? "You can't just fucking decide somethin' like this for me! Unless… unless you don't want me anymore. Is that it, John?"

"Devon… baby…"

He wanted to melt at the endearment, but that urge just pissed him off more. "No… you say it! You don't want me anymore? You fucking _say it_! You don't just drop me off and run away like some god damned coward! _You say it_!" Why the hell was he even demanding that? If John didn't… if he didn't want him, Dean sure as hell didn't want to ever hear it spelled out in so many words.

There was dead silence on the other end for several long seconds, and Dean realized that he was holding his breath. "I don't want you."

Dean let out a bitter laugh. John sounded like the words were scrapping his throat raw on the way out and Dean knew he was lying, even as his heart felt like it might shatter with the possibility that he wasn't. "Bullshit, John! _Bull_! _Shit_! You're a fucking _liar_, John. You got one week to come get me. You don't show by this time next week, 'm comin' to find you."

Dean hung up before John could respond and sagged against the car behind him. He didn't know if he'd be able to survive it if John didn't come for him. He sure as hell wouldn't be able to hold his shit together long enough to go on some sort of fucking quest to find him. He hugged himself, trying to still his trembling.

When John rolled into Bobby's yard two days later, Dean met him before he got halfway to the house and jumped him, wrapping his arms and legs around the older man, making him stumble backwards before he regained his balance. Dean shivered at the feel of John's large hands cupping his ass to help support his weight.

"Devon… you're gonna throw my back out. You're not as light as you used to be."

Dean ignored him and held on tight, face buried in the crook of John's neck. "Don't ever pull shit like that again."

John sighed. "I won't. I promise."

Dean pulled away enough to kiss him. "I demand lots of makeup sex," He murmured against John's lip before kissing him again, more suggestively.

"Yeah," John said with a voice roughened with desire, "I think you deserve it. I'm a jackass, Devon."

Finally satisfied, Dean unwrapped his legs and gave John's back a break, because he wouldn't be getting any kind of sex at all if it really went out. "Yeah… you're not gettin' any arguments from me on that."

"Not gonna make this easy on me are you?"

Dean smirked and shook his head. "Nope."

"I do want you, Devon," John said hesitantly, cupping Dean's cheek and stroking it with a thumb. "I never stopped."

That much was obvious from John coming for him, but it still felt really good to hear. "Yeah. I know. Let me get my stuff."


	6. The Truth Is to Kiss Me

**Title:** Rough Trade 6/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 5910  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title taken from _All I Want Is You_ by by Michael Franti._

** Chapter Five: The Truth Is to Kiss Me**

"Devon? Are you okay?"

Dean was surprised by John's voice. Damn… he hadn't even heard him approaching. Some hunter-in-training he was. Sitting outside alone in the dark, down the street from the house they were renting, and he couldn't even hear someone sneaking up on him. John must have just gotten back from his hunt and saw him sitting here with his freaky night vision. He hunched his shoulders and tried to stay in the shadows. He had just been trying to get some distance from his little brother, who was in another one of his pissy moods. Sammy could be a hurtful little bastard when he wanted to. "Huh? Yeah… why wouldn't I be?"

"What happened? Did Sammy say something to upset you?"

"What could he possibly say to upset me? I'm just a…" The word got caught in his throat like it was a physical thing. It's what he was… he should be able to say it. He shouldn't be out here crying like some emo bitch over his brother calling him exactly what he was. It's just that he wanted so badly to be more than that. And not just to John and Sam, but to himself too.

"You're just a what?" Dean shrugged and turned away because the damn tears wouldn't stop. Sam was right… he _was_ just a whore. The fact that he was knowingly living as his own father's personal cock slut and hiding the truth so he wouldn't have to stop proved that. Worse, he was apparently a _weepy_ whore. There was nothing worse than a whore who cried about being one. He shouldn't even be here. He didn't _deserve_ to be here. If John knew the truth… Dean began shivering and hugged himself tightly in an attempt to stop. He felt John's hands on his shoulders and flinched, but John just held on, pulling him into a hug. "Baby, you're shaking. Tell me what's wrong."

"I got somethin' in my eye's all." Dean turned his head to bury his face in the sleeve of John's jacket and took a deep breath. "Hurts." That wasn't a lie. His entire fucking existence hurt whenever he really thought about what he was and what he was doing. Hurt so badly sometimes that he was sure he could die from it. Before he met John the pain was buried beneath the daily grind of survival. But now… now all he could think about sometimes was how he didn't deserve to have John or Sammy in his life at all. That he should have taken that job Bobby found for him and let them be free of him.

John turned him so they were facing each other and looked down at him, his eyes warm with concern as he gently wiped Dean's tears away with his callused fingers. "The truth, sweetheart."

"I don't… I don't deserve…" Fuck… he was acting like some sort of punk, crying like a girl.

"Don't deserve what?"

"You. To be around someone like Sammy. Anything good." His voice sounded flat even to himself despite the tears.

"That's not true. What happened to you wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. You deserve to have good things happen to you."

"I'm still just a _whore_…" He spit the word out, feeling hot and cold at the same time. He was so overreacting. Next thing you know, he was going to need tampons or some shit.

John pulled him close, pressing Dean's face against his neck. Dean took another deep breath, his father's scent soothing him as he tightly gripped his jacket. "No you're not. You're a good boy. You're funny and talented and smart. You kicked that GED test's ass."

Dean snorted against John's neck. "I barely passed the damn thing."

"You passed it after missing how many years of school? And only studyin' for six months. I only sent you to take it to get a baseline on how much more work you needed to do… and you surpassed all my expectations. Just think of what you would have scored after another two months. You totally kicked its ass, kid. You can rebuild engines and transmissions now. Those ain't easy things to do. Fuckin' taught yourself how to make an EMF reader."

"You yelled at me for takin' apart your radios," he pointed out. He almost laughed at the memory of John red faced and sputtering. It was funny in hindsight, but he'd been terrified at the time, thinking this was when the first blow was finally going to land. But it hadn't and John had gone out and bought him a huge electronics set the next week.

John snorted. "Yeah. Sometimes you have to suffer for your genius. 'Sides, I can admit to bein' a cranky bastard sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Dean hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it slipped out.

John actually laughed, but otherwise ignored the comment. "But you're not a whore, baby boy."

"Then why do I want you to bend me over right now? It's all I can ever think about when I'm this close to you." Dean pulled the handfuls of his father's leather jacket he was holding, trying to draw the man a little closer.

"I like to think it's because we have really amazing sex. And maybe… maybe it's a little more than that between us now. Maybe it always was. For the record, It's all I can think about sometimes too. I hate bein' away from you for even a couple of days. Miss lyin' next to you, miss the way you feel in my arms."

"But why can't I just be satisfied with you?" Dean tried to pull away as he made the case for why he was definitely a whore even if he wasn't willing to submit his biggest piece of evidence, but John wasn't letting go. Dean had a fundamental inability to keep it in his pants, and Sam knew how to twist the knife just enough to make him feel ashamed of himself. Not that he really needed Sam for that.

"Because you're not _gay_. Maybe bi, but not gay. You're still a teenager even if you are 18, and a nice pair of tits sets you off. That's normal, and I can't give you what you need in that area."

"You just have all the answers, don't you?"

"Course I do. And the sooner you understand that, the better off your life'll be." Dean laughed. "There's nothin' wrong with enjoyin' sex. It's actually _good_ that you still can after everything you've been through. And you're not hurtin' yourself or anyone else. You know, I never thought I'd love anyone else after Mary died. I felt so… _empty_… inside. I tried with Sam… but I know I fucked up a lot. I was just always so afraid of losin' him that sometimes I lost sight of the fact that I loved him. But I don't feel empty anymore. And that's all because of you. So you can't be 'just a whore'… you're too important."

"You… you _love_ me?" Dean knew John wanted him, knew he depended on him in some ways, even knew he liked spending time with him. But love? He'd never expected that. Never even considered it was possible.

"Yes… I do." John dropped his eyes and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "You don't… you don't have to feel the same way-"

"But I do!" Dean realized that he sounded way too eager and paused, clearing his throat and trying make himself sound a little less like a freaking girl who's boyfriend just asked her to go steady. "I mean… I… I do. That's why I'm never leaving you." Yeah… so much for not sounding like a girl.

John chuckled. "Never's a long time, kid."

There were so many things Dean wanted to say, but, again, he was trying to hold on to his balls here so he pulled John down for a kiss instead. They were doing way too much talking anyway. The house was dark in the distance, so Dean pulled John back to the Impala and into the backseat where he pulled off his pants, stretched across the back of the front seat to retrieve the lube, and then straddled John's lap.

John held him close, biting at his neck and shoulder as he opened him up. Dean was shaking like an addict who needed his next fix. He unzipped John and carefully pulled his hard cock out of his jeans, slowly jacking. When John pushed his hands away and started to push himself inside him, Dean groaned and clutched at his broad shoulders.

"That too much, baby?"

"No… just… gimme a minute. Gonna cum if you move now."

John pulled his head down and kissed him until he was dizzy. He pulled his lips away from his father's and sucked a breath into his screaming lungs. "Okay, now, Dad… _move_…"

If John thought Dean calling him 'Dad' almost as often as he called him 'John' was strange, he never said anything about it. Sometimes he snorted in amusement and seemed to think that it was just another one of Dean's many quirks. But Dean was glad that he was allowed to call John Dad. Even if it was a little sick. If John weren't related to him, it would just be kinky and that's probably how the older man saw it.

John wasn't rushing, but he wasn't exactly slow and sweet either. He fucked Dean deep and steady, owning him, and all Dean could do was hold on for the ride.

"Gonna cum," he finally gasped out between moans and whimpers.

"Yeah," John groaned as he slid his hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Dean's cock. "Cum for me, baby."

John's voice slid down Dean's spine, warm and tender, and he shuddered his way through an orgasm, his blunt fingers digging into his father's shoulders. The older man kissed his jaw and neck before pulling away, his head resting against the back of the seat as he looked up him. Dean shivered again at the look in John's eyes. Maybe he couldn't be John's son anymore… but he could be this. This was enough, more than he ever thought he'd have. He leaned forward and kissed John as he felt the man's seed fill him, his fingers carding through thick curly hair.

About an hour after they stumbled into the house and tangled up on the couch to watch some cheesy horror movie while Dean force-fed John a PB & J sandwich, Sam shuffled into the living room, eyes red and face puffy.

"Dude, did you have a nightmare?" Dean spoke first, but John was already sitting up on high alert just in case he had to kill something.

Sam shook his head. "I'm… I'm sorry Devon. I didn't mean it."

"It's okay, kiddo." And really, it was, because Dean could never stay mad at Sammy for long. It was just a stupid argument and he'd overreacted anyway. It wasn't like he never said hurtful things too.

"No it's not! I don't know why I… I just get so _pissed off_ sometimes and I say bad things." Sam's eyes were darting from John to Dean and his little chubby chin was wobbling. Dean briefly considered putting him on a diet.

John opened his arms. "Come 'ere kiddo." Sam launched himself at John and curled up into a tiny ball on his father's lap. There was suddenly a lump in Dean's throat and he wasn't sure where it had come from. "We're gonna have to work on that then, right?"

Sam sniffled loudly and nodded his head against John's chest. John pulled Dean into what had clearly become a dreaded group hug, so that he was pressed against Sam's back. Dean put an awkward hand on Sam's head. Were thirteen year olds supposed to be this emo?

"It's okay, kid. No hard feelin's. I'll make some popcorn, and we can watch _Godzilla vs Mothra_."

Sam twisted around so that he could look up at Dean with a small, grateful smile. For the first time, Dean felt like part of the family again.

Dean was out of bed the minute he heard John pull up. He rushed to the kitchen, half asleep and wearing only his boxers, waiting for him to come in. Five minutes passed, and no John. He looked out the window. The Impala sat there in the drive, idling with the lights still on. Suddenly Dean's heart was in his throat and he rushed out of the house, ignoring the cold and the bite of sharp rocks on the soles of his bare feet. When he got close enough, he could see John slumped in the driver's seat, pale and dirty and bleeding.

"Jesus," Dean breathed as he yanked the door open and leaned in, feeling frantically for a pulse in John's neck.

"De'on," John asked softly, his voice a little slurred and for half a terrifying second Dean thought he'd said his real name.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Monster didn't wanna let me kill it. It lost the argument, though." The older man's lips curled into a small hard smile.

Dean snorted as he turned off the ignition and pulled out the keys. "That's not funny, John."

A heavy hand settled on his head. "Just help me outta here. A couple o' stitches and a good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

Dean carefully helped John out of the car, supporting most of his weight. "Stitches? Shouldn't you be at the emergency room for that?"

"Not injured enough for a trip to the ER. Sammy's an old hand at sewin' me up."

"Dude! He's _twelve_!"

"He had to… learn how. He might as well… practice… on me." John's breathing was becoming more and more labored the more he moved and Dean just wanted to shove him back in the fucking car and drive him to the hospital despite his protests.

It was a long trip to the living room, with Dean biting his lip every time John made a noise in pain or stiffened in his arms. Once they were finally there, he eased John down on the couch. "You're heavy, old man."

"What'd I tell you… 'bout callin' me… 'old man'?" John raised an eyebrow at him. The older man had a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. Usually Dean liked getting him all sweaty, but not like this. He ran his fingers through John's thick hair, pushing it back from his clammy forehead.

"What're you gonna do about it? A stiff breeze could knock you on your ass right now."

John snorted softly and closed his eyes.

Sam came into the room, carrying the big first aid kit and a half empty bottle of whiskey. He must have heard John drive up just like Dean did, and realized that he'd been injured. When their father was on a hunt, he noticed Sam didn't sleep as soundly or as long as when John was home. "Where're you hurt, Dad?"

Dean frowned. The kid sounded and acted annoyed, like John's injury was a huge inconvenience.

"My side, Sammy. Not a bad injury, but the damn thing musta caught a vain. Bled like a motherfucker."

Sam handed John the bottle and then set about getting everything ready. He was quick and efficient as he cut away John's clothing and found the wound. Dean watched from his place on the couch at John's uninjured side. He wanted to know what to do too. Sam got the needle and thread ready and looked up at John.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," John answered, tipping his head back against the couch. He hadn't drunk any of the whiskey yet. Dean put his hand over John's, lacing their fingers together. He knew this was going to hurt without anesthetic. John squeezed his hand gently and tried to smile reassuringly at him. "It's okay, baby."

Sam snorted as he cleaned the wound. At least he was trying to be gentle as far as Dean could tell, even if he was behaving like an ass. Dean could feel through their entwined hands how much pain John was in from the tension in his fingers. When Sam started stitching him up, John nearly squeezed hard enough to break bone, but only briefly before regaining his composure and loosening up on his hold. Once Sam was finished, they got John undressed, washed up and into bed.

"That happen often," Dean asked after following Sam back into the living room.

"At least two or three times a year," Sam said as he cleaned up the mess and repacked the first aid kit. "He's a little behind schedule this year. Get used to it."

"Dude… how can you be like that?"

"Like what?"

"You could have _lost_ him tonight, come this close to losing him every time he goes hunting, and you're acting like you don't care."

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe act like you give a shit?"

"Like it'll do any good. Like he'll even _care_. If he cared at all about me or how I felt, he wouldn't do this! Mom and Dean are _gone_ … he'll never kill enough monsters to bring them back! I don't even remember them. He's all I have, all I've _ever_ had, and one day he's gonna be gone too and I'll be alone! But does he care? No… it's all about getting even for what happened to people who died before I was old enough to even remember them. I'm still here… but I don't even _matter_ to him. So if he doesn't care, why the hell should I?" Sammy was on the verge of tears, his breath coming in short harsh bursts and his face red. It was obvious to Dean that the anger was covering up a whole shitload of hurt.

"It's not black and white like that Sammy. I don't think that he's the kind of man who could just sit around and let other people die if he could prevent it. Cops and firemen put their lives on the line to help people every single day too. Doesn't mean they don't care about their families. John's a _hero_."

"I don't want a hero. I just want a father."

"I had a real family once. 'Til I was four. I had nobody after that. Maybe John's not the dad you want… but your life could have been a hell of a lot worse."

"Yeah, well it's not too late for that, is it?"

Dean frowned. "You have somewhere to go, right? I mean, if… you know…"

"Yeah. Dad already had the talk with Uncle Bobby. He's gonna take me in if I'm suddenly orphaned. Pastor Jim's next in line. Too bad Bobby's not really my dad."

"You don't… you don't _mean_ that! I mean, Bobby's cool and all. But John's your _Dad_. He could've just dumped you off on somebody else. Woulda been a heck of a lot easier for him."

"For both of us."

Dean shook his head. "It's like beatin' my head against a freakin' brick wall. I'm gonna go take care of John. Make sure the doors are locked and the salt lines aren't broken when you're done bein' bitter and decide to go to bed."

Dean closed the door to their bedroom behind him and slipped into bed beside John. Careful not to jar his injuries, he spooned behind John, holding him as tightly as he dared. Usually, it was Dean being held and protected and this felt a little weird. It felt good too, though. Like he could protect John now the way John was always protecting him.

On the one hand, he understood where Sam was coming from. He didn't want to lose John either, and he'd had to learn real quick on the street that you minded your own damn business if you didn't want to end up collateral damage. John wasn't good at minding his own business at all. On the other hand? If John had been good at it, Dean would be dead. A lot of people would probably be dead if it weren't for John risking his own life to save them. The bottom line was that he wouldn't change the way his father was for anything, even to get rid of the fear that was eating its way through him now. Because it made John a hero. His Dad was a hero. Like Batman… because he could die, but he did it anyway. So there was really only one solution. Every Batman needed a Robin. Only without the really cheesy outfit.

"Cause 'm not wearin' tights, dude," Dean whispered into John's soft mass of hair. "Not even for you."

It happened in slow motion. It felt like it took forever to watch the claws tear into Devon's side and fling the boy across the room. But John couldn't move, at least not fast enough to stop it. The silver knife in his hand glinted in the moonlight as it found its mark, slicing through the skinwalker's heart. John didn't wait to make sure he'd killed it, rushing to Devon's side instead. The claw marks hadn't ripped through as much of the boy's torso as he'd feared, but they'd gone deep and God only knew how much damaged they'd done.

"Devon… baby, can you hear me." He gently lifted the boy's head off the ground and cradled him.

"Y-yeah. You okay?"

"I'm… damn it kid, I'm fine."

"Good."

Devon's eyes closed and his body started relaxing in his arms and John panicked. "No! Stay with me… Devon!"

Devon's eyes fluttered open. "Hurts."

"Yeah. I know it hurts, baby. But you gotta stay with me. I'll get you fixed up, but you can't… you can't leave me. Please don't leave me…"

Devon's breathing was labored and his eyes looked unfocused. John pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911 with trembling fingers.

_"What's your emergency?" _

"I've got somebody here who's been injured."

_"What's the nature of his or her injury?" _

John spared a look at the carcass of the skinwalker, which had of course reverted to its human form. That was going to be a problem. "He was attacked by a bear," he said.

_"Sir… are you sure? We don-" _

"Look, lady, he's bleeding to death right now. We're in an abandoned warehouse on the corner of Vine and Stafford. Can we argue about this shit once you send an ambulance to our location?"

_"Of course sir,"_ the operator said, sounding appropriately chastised. _"Please stay on the line."_

Bobby knelt next to him and John jumped. He hadn't heard the older man enter. "Jesus John, what the hell happened?"

"Get the first aid kit."

Bobby took off without another word.

The operator came back. "An ambulance is on its way to your location. Do you know how to check the victim's pulse?"

"It's fast and thready and gettin' weaker. His pupils are dilated and he's bleeding like a motherfucker. I was in the Marines and I'm gonna employ some field medicine to try to keep the boy alive, so you'll have to excuse me." He hung up on the stammering operator just as Bobby was coming in with the first aid kit.

"I need you to get rid of the bodies, Bobby."

"There's about fifteen of 'em, John."

"We gotta get rid of 'em," John pointed out as he began to quickly pull things out of the kit and set up an IV. "We can't have dead people all over the fucking place when the EMS gets here, and we have to burn the bodies 'cause they're gonna be pretty damn curious about what could possibly do somethin' like this. And I need you to call emergency again to make sure they're comin'. Where the hell's Caleb and Amos?"

"We're right here," Caleb's deep voice echoed through the empty space as he and the other man, who'd conscripted them into this hunt, entered the warehouse. "What the hell happened?"

"What the hell's it look like," John snapped as he tried to find a vain. Devon was barely conscious but he was still trying to hang on. "Get these bodies out back, now! And light them up before the cops show. We can't blow town with Devon like this. Or at least I can't."

The other men began carrying the two dead skinwalkers out of the warehouse while John gave Devon a saline drip to keep his blood pressure from dropping too low and a mild painkiller to knock the edge off. The boy was sliding headlong into shock and there wasn't much John could do about it other than pray and hold his wadded up flannel shirt against the wound to try to staunch the flow of blood. Finally, finally, after an eternity, he heard the wail of sirens in the distance. But what he felt was more akin to faint hope than relief. Devon was a long way from out of the woods.

"You hear that baby," he asked, smoothing back the boy's short, sweat soaked hair. "The ambulance is here. You gotta fight for me, okay? You gotta hold on."

He leaned forward and kissed the boy's damp forehead. Devon didn't respond. He just lay there staring at nothing, his breathing labored. John felt like he was in hell. The siren grew louder until it was finally right outside. The amount of time between his 911 call to the moment that the EMTs pushed him out of the way was probably only about twenty minutes, but it had felt like an eternity. Every gasping, labored breath Devon took John feared would be the last. But he had survived this far, and that meant there was hope. But he couldn't feel anything but a cloying suffocating fear that was trying to turn him into a block of ice.

They had plasma in the ambulance, and John finally allowed himself to hope a little when the EMTs were able to stabilize the boy on the way to the hospital.

"What the hell made these wounds," one of them asked.

"I don't know," John lied. "All I know is it was big and pissed off."

Devon was carrying his Winchester driver's license, so when they got to the hospital it was assumed that John was his next of kin. He let them keep that assumption, calling Devon his son. He would be damned if he was going to end up shut out just because they weren't actually related to each other. He and Sammy were all the family Devon had. He was asked for permission to operate, to repair internal damage, by a doctor that looked like he was barely out of high school. They gave him odds and spewed a lot of medical jargon at him that basically meant the surgery was Devon's only chance, but even that would be dicey since he'd lost so much blood and his system was an inch away from crashing. He gave his consent because it was the only thing he could do.

Five minutes later a cute little nurse came over to him and offered him a shirt like the ones that hospital staff wore. That's when he realized that he was covered with blood. Devon's blood. He suddenly felt sick. He grabbed the shirt and mumbled his thanks as he rushed to the bathroom. He started to wash the blood off his hands when it struck him how wrong it was to just wash away Devon's blood, to see it swirling down the drain like that. That train of thought slid headlong into the thought that this whole situation was wrong. Devon should be somewhere safe and happy. He deserved better than this, better than John and his whole fucked up existence. The next thing he knew, he was staring at his reflection in the broken mirror, his blood running down the ruined surface. He was aware of a sharp, stabbing pain in his hand. He'd punched the mirror, and he wanted to keep punching it until there was nothing left of it.

"John." He started at Bobby's voice. He didn't speak or acknowledge his presence, though. "This ain't the time to fall apart. That boy needs you."

"That should be me in there," John said in a flat voice.

"What?"

"I heard a shot. Devon… he saw it sneakin' up on me while I was takin' out another one, but the angle was wrong… he just didn't have the shot. He took it anyway, probably just tryin' to slow it down. No sooner had I heard it than… suddenly he was _there_, pushin' me out of the way. That should be me in that fucking operating room, Bobby. I shoulda… I shoulda left him at your place, forced him to get a life of his own. It woulda hurt but he'd've gotten over it. Found somethin' better."

"This is the life he wanted, John. God knows why, but the boy wanted to be with you. And Sam. The two o' you are his family. I don't think a person just gets over bein' abandoned by his family. Now come on, you old fool. Let's get that hand taken care of."

An hour later, John sat in a chair next to Devon's bed, his injured hand wrapped in gauze and resting on the bed and the uninjured one clutching one of Devon's. The boy was on a ventilator. He looked so young and almost as white as the sheets. He'd lost a hell of a lot of blood, but they said he would be fine so long as no infection set in.

John didn't have any idea how long he sat there watching the boy breath when he started to stir awake. Suddenly his eyes went wide and he started to grab at the tube in his mouth, his body rigid and alarms went off. John grabbed his hands and held them down.

"Hey, hey… calm down. You're on a ventilator, baby. Just let it breathe for you." Devon was frowning up at him, but he finally stopped fighting. The alarms eventually went silent. "That's it. Just relax." He reluctantly pulled his good hand from the boy's so he could push the call button. "They said they'd take it out after you woke up, but for now just let it do its thing."

Devon reached out for him and John took his hand again, leaning forward and kissing the boy on the forehead. "Scared me, baby. New rule: you're not allowed to die on me. You got that?"

John wasn't used to silence from Devon, but the boy had slept through almost the entire drive from the hospital to the nearby hotel room that John rented, and then another ten hours after he'd gotten him settled in, only waking up when John gave him his meds. Bobby dropped Sam off around the fifth hour that Devon was out. The boy was angry with him. John recognized all the signs. The way he didn't speak unless he had to, and only used as many words as were necessary. The way he kept looking at John like he'd walked in on him killing his pet hamster. Yeah. Sammy was pissed. After five hours of silent resentment, John'd had enough.

"What's up your ass now, son?"

"Nothin'," the boy said sullenly.

"I'm not gonna sit around and wait for you to snap. It's obvious that you're pissed at me, but I have no idea why. So just spit it out."

"You have no idea?" Sam frowned at him through his bangs - and why, for the love of God, can't the boy keep his hair just a little shorter?

"Coulda sworn that's what I just said."

"You got Devon hurt, and you have no idea why I'm pissed?"

John cocked his head at the boy. "You're upset about Devon? The guy you usually act like you want nothin' to do with?"

Sam huffed out a breath. "He's still a _person_. And he almost died."

John looked down, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest, the memory of rinsing Devon's blood off his hands hitting him out of nowhere and filling his stomach with acid. "Yeah. I know. It was… It was damn close."

"It's bad enough you're always nearly gettin' yourself killed, but now you're draggin' _Devon_ into it."

"I never made him do anything he didn't wanna do."

Sam snorted softly. "Like he'd ever do anything you didn't want him to."

John shook his head. That wasn't true. Devon had a mind of his own. He blamed himself for the close call the kid had, but he didn't blame himself for Devon deciding to stay with him and become a hunter. If the boy had listened to him, he'd still be in South Dakota, breaking hearts and fixing cars. But Devon was a stubborn and headstrong as they came and he made up his own mind about what he wanted and how he was going to get it. "Devon hunts because that's what he wants. What I want doesn't even enter the equation."

Sam didn't look convinced.

"That's true." They both looked up at the sound of Devon's voice. He was standing in the doorway of the small living area. "It's not John's fault. I decided to be a hunter on my own. And sometimes you get hurt. It's not that bad, anyway."

"Devon, I can practically see through your skin. And Dad just admitted you almost died."

"Dad overreacted." Devon ambled over and sat carefully on the couch next to John. He was trying his damnedest to look like it didn't hurt to breathe, much less move. "It's barely a scratch."

"You were in the hospital for a week! Did the doctors overreact too?"

Devon sighed and sagged against John, who wrapped an arm around the boy to pull him close. "I've had worse," he finally said. And John actually believed him. "In fact, I probably would've been dead already if nobody'd saved me. That's why I wanna be a hunter. Save somebody else. That nest o' skinwalkers racked up a big body count. No tellin how many more people woulda died if we hadn't stopped 'em."

Sam stood up. "I got homework."

John didn't bother to point out that it would be a while before Sam saw the inside of his current school again. Unless they decided to stay here, in which case he'd never see the inside of it again. Sammy clearly wanted to be alone so John just let him go.

"He was tryin' to stick up for you," John offered once Sam was out of earshot.

"Yeah. But I don't need it." The boy tilted his head back and kissed John's jaw.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. It had been a week since… he pushed the thought out of his mind. "Maybe you do. You did almost die, Devon. That was a pretty speech you gave Sammy, but… I won't lose you."

"People die. That's the only thing we can count on in life."

"So what're you sayin'? That it doesn't matter when you die?"

"Hell no… I don't want either one of us to die any time soon. But I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Or drop dead of a heart failure for no reason. Or get shot by some psycho who decided to shoot into a crowd of strangers. I could get liver cancer from the hepatitis I had. I could stop hunting and die young, or hunt and die of old age. The point… the point is nobody knows how much time they have and I'd rather spend mine doing what makes me happy."

"And hunting makes you happy?"

"Yeah. And bein' with you and Sammy. And doin' 90 down an open stretch of road. And the smell of gun powder."

John snorted and shook his head. "What the hell am I gonna do with you?"

Devon nuzzled his neck. "I can think of a few things."

The boy's hot breath on his neck made him shiver. "Devon… you just got out of the hospital."

"So you'll have to be gentle. But, dude… it's been a whole _week_. You can't tell me you 're not horny." Devon pulled him down into a kiss.

John pulled away. "Just promise me you'll be more careful with yourself. You mean a hell of a lot to me."

"Let's make a deal. Why don't we be careful with each other? You watch my ass and I'll watch yours."

John smiled. "Sounds like a deal to me."


	7. Nothing Seems to Satisfy

**Title:** Rough Trade 7/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 5370  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Title taken from Paranoid _by Black Sabbath___._

**Chapter Six: Nothing Seems to Satisfy**

Dean took Sam to his first strip club because, after realizing what a complete spaz the sixteen year old was about anything remotely related to sex even after living with Dean for nearly five years, he figured it was his sacred duty as a big brother to teach the kid a few things. So, armed with a couple of fake ids and Sam's new growth spurt that left him only a few inches shorter then Dean, they spent Saturday night at The Backroom Club. It was a seedy little joint that he knew for a fact wouldn't look too closely at an ID, and the girls were usually cool enough to let a guy cop a feel or two.

"Dude… Dad's gonna flip if he finds out you took me to a place like this."

"_If_?" Dean snorted. "You really think it's possible to hide things from him?"

"Then… are you suicidal?"

"Please. I know how to handle Dad."

"Why do you still call him that? I mean… you haven't had to pretend to be his kid in a really long time, and isn't it kind of _weird_ to call the guy you sleep with 'Dad?'"

"It's kind of fun, actually. Kinky." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the kid. Sam just rolled eyes. Or he tried too. It was kind of hard to roll your eyes when there was so much around to stare at. Dean pulled out a stack of singles and split them in half. After rethinking it quickly, he split one of the stacks in half again and pressed one of the smaller stacks into Sam's hand.

"What's this for?"

"To put in their g-strings. I wanna go to one of those totally nude joints one day. I'm _dyin'_ to see where you put the tips there."

"But… I… you want… want me to… to _touch_ them?" The kid looked at him wide, eyed and on the edge of full on panic, his voice breaking like it hadn't in almost a year. Dean sighed.

For the next twenty minutes, Dean baited Sam into drinking enough to loosen up. When he deemed Sam relaxed enough, he led him to the stage and taught him how to slip a dollar into a g-string without looking like a perv. And he taught him the benefits of different cup sizes, and how to tell 'fakes' from 'natural' ones.

"Melons are golden. But sometimes more than a handful is just more than a handful. What you really want is apples, perfect in the hand and nice and firm."

"So… smaller is _better_?"

"It's all a matter of preference, man. Or, if you're not picky about body type, mood. They all have their benefits. Smaller is definitely more manageable while still being a hell of a lot of fun. But the bigger they are, the more they bounce, which is really nice when you're bein' ridden. And love tunnels feel really awesome with bigger tits."

"What'sa love tunnel?"

Dean snickered. "Dude... I'll give you $20 if you ask Daddy."

"Stop callin' him that, maaan! Tha's jus'... _skeevy_!"

"Nooo… it's _kinky_. Dude, sometimes I worry about you. You really gotta learn to let your freak flag fly. I know you have to have one. _Everybody's_ got a freak flag." Sam just rolled his eyes and Dean shook his head before pointing at one of the better-endowed strippers. "Those tits, man? Fakes. Real ones don't have that weird… ridge… thing."

"Is 'at bad?"

Dean squinted at Sam for a second. The kid could not hold his liquor at all. It wasn't like Sammy had never had alcohol before… once the kid passed his sixteenth birthday, John basically let him drink whatever he wanted, but he'd never actually seen the younger boy drink more than a glass of whiskey here or a bottle of beer there. Dean could only hope he got better at it as he got older. "Nah. They just don't usually feel the same. But I wouldn't turn down Pamela Anderson just 'cause hers were probably made in China. Oh, the things I'd like to do to her." He grinned lasciviously as his mind wandered.

"Dude! You're s'posed t' be with my _father_!"

"Trust me kid, he appreciates a nice pair of tits too. And he'd _totally_ do Pam."

Sam clearly didn't know what to make of that. He frowned and opened and closed his mouth several times, as if every time he thought of something, he dismissed it before he could get it out.

"Dude, stop that!" Dean hissed as he took a quick glance around to see if anyone was paying attention to his spaz of a little brother. "You look like a drownin' fish."

When they got home, Dean hid all the painkillers in anticipation of his little brother's hangover after putting Sam to bed and took a long hot shower. He might have permission to screw around with women, but he didn't want to get into the bed he shared with John smelling like stripper. When he slid into his side of the bed, John rolled over, pulled him close and kissed him behind the ear. John mumbled something that sounded like 'baby' against the back of his head and was instantly asleep again.

Dean was always turned on by the sound of John's voice and the endearments he used. He loved it when his father called him baby. It would have to wait until tomorrow though. John hadn't been getting much sleep lately and he didn't want to wake him up while he was actually managing to get some shuteye.

The next day, Sam trudged out of his room looking like a hundred miles of bad road and wearing the clothes he'd worn the night before. Dean had left them in a pile next to the bed when he pulled them off the kid and tucked him in. Obviously the his brother had just gotten up and pulled them back on, since they were the closest things at hand. Dean snickered and John stared at Sam, his jaw a little slack, before turning to Dean.

"Why is Sammy hungover?" John caught a whiff of Sam as he dropped into a chair, wincing and gripping his head as if trying to hold it in one piece. John continued, lowering his voice a little. "And why does he smell like baby powder and cheap perfume?"

"Well ya see, Sam and me had some quality male bonding time last night." John gave him a sharp look. "Not _that_ kind," Dean said with a wink and smirk, his tone dirty and suggestive.

"As if…" Sam muttered with an aborted roll of his eyes and a groan. John's eye roll was much more eloquent.

"I'm just tryin' to figure out what passes for male bonding that would have him comin' back hungover, and smelling like slut," his tone clearly stating that Dean's mind was the only one in the gutter.

Sam mumbled something about drinking Dean under the table.

"Yeah. Not in this life," Dean scoffed with a smirk. "I'm not the one sittin' there lookin' like somethin' we dug up from the local cemetery. We just went to a strip club, Dad. So technically, he smells like _stripper_."

"Dude… will you stop callin' him that? He's not your Dad."

Dean glared at his little brother but said nothing. John _was_ his Dad… even if Dean was the only one that knew it. And even if he weren't? Dean could call him any damn thing he pleased. John didn't even acknowledge that Sam had said anything.

"A _strip club_, Devon? He's barely sixteen!" John didn't sound so much angry as surprised, which was a very good sign.

"Hey dude, someone's gotta teach the kid somehow! You didn't see him behind the bleachers with that little blond in his class last week. It was… _pathetic_. I mean… forget second base. The kid couldn't get to _first_ base with a flashlight and a freakin' road map. And I could tell from a mile away that girl was _not_ wearin' a bra. Which, when coupled with the fact that she was making out with a boy under the bleachers, is practically an open invitation to be felt up."

John blinked at Dean for a couple of seconds, and he could practically hear the gears turning in the older man's head, like he was trying to figure out the best way to approach the situation. "But why would you think a strip club is the best place to teach him?"

"They're out on display. Less risk of authorities or enraged fathers gettin' involved with the manhandling means he can get over his aversion to coping a feel without fear."

"You let him _touch_? _They_ let him touch?"

"Well, yeah! I got a couple lap dances so he could get the full experience. The girls were real cool about it once I explained everything."

John sighed and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Okay… I guess it wasn't so bad. And, god, I can't believe I'm actually sayin' that."

"No, it wasn't. Sammy enjoyed himself and maybe he'll get enough confidence to make us grandparents one day."

Sam choked on his orange juice, spewing a mouthful all over the table.

Dean stared at his little brother. "Hey, man! I'm _not_ cleaning that up! Do I _look_ like the maid?" Sammy gave him a full pout, but Dean just pointed at the kitchen sink. "And use detergent, or it'll be sticky."

John snorted and took a sip of his coffee as he watched Sam get up, heaving a sigh as he did. "Anything else I need to know? I mean, the kid didn't lose his cherry last night, did he?"

"_Dad_!" Sam sounded offended.

"What? I never woulda guessed that you, the very _picture_ of moral rectitude, would darken the door of a strip joint armed with a fake ID, get drunk and feel up the talent, either. I kinda think it's a fair question."

Sam was bright red as he turned away from John and began wiping up the orange juice. "Not my fault your boyfriend's a bad influence."

"Yeah. Like he _forced_ you. So, I know all the important parts, right?"

"Well," Dean drew out the word as he stood up and leaned against the counter next to John, just barely not touching him, the pitch of his voice dropping a little. He lowered his head so he could look up at his father through his lashes. "There was this bartender, Daddy. Made me wanna ditch Sam and come back to you. He kept _lookin'_ at me. Bet he woulda paid me pretty well but it just made me miss you... but you were already asleep when we got home."

John turned dark, speculative eyes on Dean and he felt a shiver run down his spine, arousal pooling in his gut like liquid fire. His tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip and John's eyes dropped to watch.

"Sam is _still_ in the room," Sam bit out as he finished wiping off the table.

"Don't worry Sammy. We won't scar your delicate psyche… we'll just go to our room. Right, Daddy?" Dean pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, brushing against John as he passed. He could feel John's eyes on him as he walked slowly back to their bedroom. "And I want my dish rag rinsed off and put back, geekazoid," he called over his shoulder.

"Why don't you take some pain pills and try to get some sleep, Sammy," Dean heard John say, his voice a soft affectionate rumble. Sammy though John didn't care about him… sometimes smart people were complete idiots. "There's some tomato juice in the fridge… always helps with my hangovers. Other than that, you're just gonna have to wait it out kiddo. That's the price for drinkin' hard."

Dean was sitting on the bed, leaning back on his elbows with his legs casually spread, when John came in. John smiled and closed the door. The way John was looking at him was so fucking hot Dean was throbbing in his pants. "Took you long enough. Thought I was gonna have to get started without you."

John pulled his shirt off and tossed it before leaning over Dean and taking his mouth in a passionate kiss, crawling onto the bed as Dean slid back, until he was cradled between Dean's legs. "Why can't I ever get enough of you, baby," he murmured against Dean's lips.

"Probably for the same reason I can't get enough of you." Dean bucked up against John's solid weight, purposely pressing their erections together, drawing a groan from the other man. "I want you all the fucking time, John. Wanted you last night, but didn't wanna wake you up. Fucking love your cock however I can get it."

John laughed, a dark sexy sound that sent another shiver though Dean. "So fuckin' sexy like this, baby. All desperate for my cock."

"Gonna give it to me, Daddy?"

"Where do you want it, baby boy?"

"Want you to fuck me. Just like this… wanna watch your face." Dean loved the way John looked at him. Like he was the most precious thing in the world. Sure it was girly, but he was way too far gone now to help himself. Besides, he'd long ago come to accept his inner needy bitch when it came to his father.

John leaned forward and kissed him again as they began undressing each other. Dean still kept himself shaved. Turned out the skin down there was really soft and sensitive, and John seemed to really like the feel of it. John kissed his way down his neck, sucking and biting marks into his skin as he slowly pushed Dean's shirt up from the bottom, fingers skimming along Dean's sides and sending shivers through the younger man. His father pulled away enough to pull his shirt off completely then began biting at Dean's collarbone as he opened his fly. Dean groaned and tilted his head back to give John more access. He ran his hands down John's bare back and slid them under the waistband of John's pants, digging his fingers into the older man's firm ass.

John was probably about the same age as Dean's average client had been, but that was where the similarities ended. John was no pasty, soft over the hill perv who fucked little boys to make himself feel powerful. John didn't need props like that, and Dean loved the way belonging to John made him feel powerful too. Not weak or used. John never hurt or humiliated him, never tried to make him cry. He could say 'no' if he wanted to. He hadn't really believed that at first, the concept was so foreign, but now he did. Had even said no a few times just to test it out and there had never been any negative repercussions. He could tell John what he liked, or how he wanted it and he listened every time. Dean needed this, needed John, like he needed air. John got up and pulled Dean's jeans and underwear off and then just stood admiring him for so long he felt himself blush.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, baby?"

"Save my life? You just gonna stand there and wax philosophical?" Dean wrapped his hand around his own cock and jacked it slowly, more to tease than to really get off.

John snorted as he undid his fly and pulled down his pants, eyes watching Dean's hand lazily moving along the length of his hard cock. "Wax philosophical? You've been talkin' to Sammy too much, baby."

Dean snorted. He had to admit that he and Sam did spend a lot of time together. The kid, despite the age difference, was like his best friend. An annoying, emo best friend, but still. "Probably."

The older man kicked his pants off and crawled between Dean's legs. Dean ran his fingers along the burn scars on John's arm and side. He loved those scars… his father got them trying to save him. Even though he hadn't been there, it meant a lot to know that John had gone back into a burning building for him, that he'd been willing to die to get him out.

John shivered and took his mouth in a hard kiss. Dean opened up to it, wrapping himself around John as the older man pumped some of the economy-sized lube that Dean kept on their bedside table onto his fingers. John opened him quickly and efficiently, Dean moaning into his mouth. He felt John's muscles flexing as he lubed himself and then finally the thick head of John's cock pressing inside him. He groaned softly as he relaxed and gave himself to his father. He felt John's balls press against his ass for an instant before John started fucking him. Dean gripped his arm with one hand, holding onto a handful of his hair with the other.

They stared into each other's eyes and shared breath as they moved against each other, silent except for soft grunts and moans and muttered curses that competed with the wet sounds of kissing and fucking. He felt John's hand snake between them and wrap around his cock, thumbing at the head. Dean shuddered.

"Oh, fuck yes," he hissed softly.

"Gonna cum for me, baby?"

"Yeah." Dean shuddered again; he was so close. John began stroking his cock and it didn't take long before he was spilling all over John's fingers with a choked sob. John followed, whispering 'Devon' against Dean's neck. It was almost as good as hearing his own name… and almost had to be good enough because he knew he would never hear that name again unless his family was talking about a kid who died tragically at four. No one would ever call him Dean again, especially not John and definitely not when he was coming inside him. Dean closed his eyes and held John close as they recovered, willing himself not to think about it.

John finally pulled out of him and rolled over, pulling at Dean until he was on his side with his back pressed against John's chest. "You'll be twenty three in a few months," he said, his breath warm against the back of Devon's ear.

"Yeah," Dean lied. Really, he was going to be twenty-one, but it was an old lie, one he couldn't un-tell without his entire life unraveling. Like pulling at the loose end of the yarn on a sweater. The more he told it, though, the more it felt like the truth and he wondered if he could pass a lie detector test now.

"We should do somethin' special."

"Special? Like what?"

"I don't know. Get a cabin by a lake or somethin'. Just the two of us. We could walk around naked and swim and fish." John leaned forward and kissed the back of Dean's neck. "Just be. For a couple days at least."

Normally, something that laid back wasn't Dean's style, but he had to admit that spending time alone with John like that sounded good. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good. I gotta get up. There's shit I actually need to get done today." But he made no move to get up for several minutes. Just lay in the silence of their room holding Dean in the safety of his arms.

"I want us to build a house. Right here." John ran his fingers lazily up and down Devon's smooth back. They were naked and spent, breeze slowly drying their sweat slick skin, lying on sleeping bags in a tent, the front flap open to give a view of the lake, reflecting the purple and scarlet of the evening sky. "A home for you and Sammy. We could sit out on the porch and watch the sun rise over the lake. Fish in the afternoons; grill what we catch for dinner. We can work at the local garage to make money. Hunt on the weekends. Maybe throw in a long one every once in a while."

"Really? We can do that?"

"Once I kill this demon, baby boy. We can do whatever we want once he's not breathin' down our necks anymore."

Devon turned over and looked up at John, his eyes so bright and liquid that they made John ache. "I can help you kill him. You shouldn't go after him alone."

"I have to… when he finally resurfaces again. I can't drag you into this. It's not your fight."

Devon frowned. "Your fight is my fight. You should know that by now. I'm good enough. You said I was good enough to hunt with you, watch your back."

John closed his eyes and sighed. He did know that, knew how devoted Devon was to him and was in awe that it was more than just gratitude. He opened his eyes and smoothed out the boy's furrowed brow with a thumb. "You are. But I can't lose you. The only way I can do what I need to do? Is if I know that you and Sam are safe."

"I'm supposed be okay with sittin' on the sidelines knowin' you're in danger? I can't lose you either, John."

"You won't. I gotta live long enough to give you a home, right?" He leaned over and kissed his boy. "Love you so fuckin' much, baby. Never thought I would be able to love anyone as much as I loved Mary."

"You love me that much?"

John shook his head and Devon looked away. He gently cupped his face with a hand and turned his face so he could look him in the eye. "More. I love you more."

The shit Sam came up with to annoy John was impressive. Dean had to admit that much even though half the time it made him want to strangle the kid. For most teenagers, rebellion was a way to express themselves and try to find their own identity. For Sam, it was a reason for existing. First it was punk rock, which Dean was sure Sam didn't even really like. It took Dean a week to figure out how to turn that into a net positive. In the end he convinced John that the volume meant that Sam couldn't hear what was going on outside his room. He didn't think John believed that any more than he did, but he went along with it anyway and the two had the kind of loud, sweaty sex that they only ever indulged in when they had the house to themselves or were somewhere without Sam. And after sex like that, Sam could have been playing a bagpipe in a kilt right at the foot of the bed for all John cared. The volume of the kid's music stayed at an acceptable level from then on too. So win-win.

After that, Dean's response times got quicker. Mostly it was minor annoyances, like making sure none of the trashcans were upright, or refusing to keep the weapons on his person that John wanted him to. Then one day, Sam started posing as a Goth (and Dean had confirmed that the kid actually changed on the way to and from school – looking normal everywhere but at home). The first day of his impersonation, Sam shuffled out of the bathroom after an unusually long stay with his hair jet black, thick eyeliner smudged around his eyes and black fingernail polish glittering on his nails. John had simply stared at him, slack jawed and perplexed, like the boy was a text he couldn't make sense of. Dean actually choked on his coffee (which he was back to drinking since he was finally over 21, and content to be only an inch shorter than John – six one was absolutely nothing to freaking sneeze at). Dean knew at that moment that Sam was declaring all-out war. Where this would lead was anybody's guess. Two weeks later, he came home from a quick trip for necessities at the grocery store to a loud argument.

"Sam… you can't go and that's _final_!"

"I'm _seventeen_, Dad! I should be able to do what I want!"

"You're my kid and you're not going!"

"That's not _fair_!"

"Life's not fair, so deal!"

"I'm going!"

"Wanna bet?"

It wasn't unusual for Dean to come home to find John and Sam yelling at each other. So he did what he usually did to defuse it, before John actually locked Sam in the trunk of the Impala or chained him to his bed – which he didn't think John was above doing. He walked up to John and kissed him until he felt the older man relax against him. "What's goin' on?"

John looped an arm around his waist, holding him close. Like he was trying to absorb some of Dean's calm through his skin. "Sammy here doesn't seem to understand that goin' out to a Goth party on All Hallows Eve in the middle of the night is a bad fucking idea."

Yeah… that would definitely explain the screaming. Dean took in Sam's eye makeup and (spray on) black spiked hair and black clothes with strategic holes. He wondered if the kid was _trying_ to look like a Gothic street hustler or if that was just the way it turned out. But either way, Sam knew how John got this close to the anniversary of the fire and he really shouldn't be pushing those buttons. John thought Sam was his only surviving child, his only tie to Mary. This was definitely unnecessary roughness. "Sammy… did you hit your damn head?"

"It's _Sam_, and these people are my _friends_! Everybody isn't a witch or demon. Most people are perfectly normal."

Dean snorted at that load of bull. If the kid was going to a Goth party, it wasn't with anyone he actually knew. He followed Sam every once in a while to make sure he was staying out of trouble, and knew for a fact he was sickeningly normal when he was away from home. So normal, in fact, that he made everyone else look like freaks in comparison. "I'll go with 'im."

John growled. "Then you'll _both_ be out there!"

"I can watch out for Sammy."

Sam groaned. "It's _Sam_!"

"But who'll be watchin' out for you?"

Dean smiled and kissed John again. "You're worried about me?"

"Course, sweetheart. I don't want either of you out there tonight."

"I'll be okay. I know how to take care of both of us," Dean murmured against John's lips between a series of quick kisses.

Sam heaved out a sigh. "Why can't you two keep it in your room?"

"I'll be extra careful. I have my phone, I'll be armed."

"You're bringing _weapons_?" Sam sounded appalled and Dean just rolled his eyes.

"No, Sammy. If any of these 'good friends' o' yours decide to make a pact with the devil at the witching hour usin' your entrails, I was just plannin' on usin' my charm to talk 'em out of it. Course I'm takin' weapons."

"Never mind! I'm not going! The two of you are ruining my life!" Sam stomped off to his room and slammed the door.

Dean started to laugh, laying his head against John's broad shoulder.

"What?"

"He didn't have anywhere to go… least not a _Goth_ party."

John snorted. "You're right. Damn it. He gets me so pissed off that half the time I can't see through his bullshit and the other half I wanna strangle him anyway."

"Yeah. I'm good at this parenting stuff. Maybe we should have another one?"

John rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'd survive another one."

It wasn't until a year later that Dean realized how Sammy's war would end. In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. But he was just as blindsided as John the night Sam finally declared his independence. John was panicking, like a drowning man who knows he can't make it to shore in time and struggles for every breath, struggles to stay above the surface. And Sam never saw it. Dean couldn't figure that out, couldn't figure out how they could be so much alike without Sam seeing it or ever truly understanding John. The screaming was worse than it had ever been before, with John fighting not to lose the only son he thought he had left and Sam fighting to be free of a father who wouldn't allow him to live his own life his way. And Dean staying out of it this time because he felt just as emotionally gutted by the whole thing as he knew they both did.

"Sammy-"

"No, Dad. I'm eighteen. This is _my_ goddamned life and I'm gonna live it my way now."

"Damn it, boy! It's not _safe_ for you to go running off to school and spend all that time in one spot! Years, Sammy… _years_ in one fucking place."

"No. It's you're world that isn't safe. And I don't want to live in it anymore."

"_My_ world? You think this is what I _wanted_?"

"Yeah, I do. I think you're so fucking scarred by what happened to Mom and Dean that you're too afraid to live in the real world anymore."

"You think all those people who have no clue what's in the dark are livin' in the real world?"

"That's exactly what I think. I think that you like hunting so much because you never have to deal with life. There's always somethin' new to kill. No time to deal with any personal problems."

"I don't… so you're just gonna walk away from it, Sammy? You think the war won't come to you?"

"It's not my war! It was _never_ my war. My entire life, you've been _obsessed_ with revenge and you tried to make me just like you. I don't even _remember_ them!"

"Oh, I see. You don't remember them so they don't count. What happened to them doesn't matter."

"Don't put words in my mouth!"

"You don't understand, Sammy," John pled, trying one last time to get through to his son. "This isn't about revenge! This is about your safety. I can't… I can't risk losin' you too, son."

"_Don't_, Dad! Don't try to make all your bullying and neglect into some sort of massive sacrifice for me instead of what it really was. _Devon_ was more of a parent to me then you ever were. I've made up my mind. I need to get the hell away from you before I end up just like you."

"Just like me? Care to expound on that, son?"

"A bitter, pathetic old drunk playing house with some underage slut he picked up off the street one day even though he claims he's not gay."

John let out a harsh bitter laugh. "You can be a real bastard when you want to, you know that Sammy?"

"Then you should be happy to be rid of me… And it's _Sam_!"

"You walk out that door, don't you bother comin' back… _Sam_!" John stormed out of the room and slammed his door. That was a first. Dean was used to Sam slamming doors, but never John. The man must be on the edge of totally freaking out.

"So, uh, you're really leavin'?"

"Yeah. I have to."

"If you say so."

"You don't have to stay either, Devon. He doesn't _own_ you."

Dean snorted out a breath. "Dude… I know that. You always act like you think I'm trapped here, or like I think I am. I happen to love your father. I might be some slut he picked up one day, but he doesn't exactly keep me chained to the damn bed."

"Look man, I didn't mean what I said…"

Dean shrugged, feeling sad and exhausted. "Yeah, I know. You just get mad and say bad things sometimes. What the hell ever, man. It's cool. But you need to finally get it through your thick skull that I'm with John because I wanna be." He didn't add that he took care of Sammy for the same reason, because he loved him and he wanted to do it. Didn't even hint at the hollow feeling in his stomach at the thought of his little brother not being around anymore. "Speaking of which, I'd better go check on him. Let me know if you need a ride."

He left Sam standing alone in the middle of the kitchen. He found the bedroom he shared with John dark. He waited until his eyes adjusted. John was sitting on the side of their bed, staring out the window and turning his wedding ring on his finger. "I failed. A man's got just one job. Protect his family." He took a deep shuddering breath. "I failed so fucking epicly."

His father's words were hurt worse than the skinwalker's claws. He was still grieving for Dean. "We haven't lost Sam yet. We just have to find and deal with the demon before he comes after Sam."


	8. Not Until These Very Words Were Spoken

**Title:** Rough Trade 8/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 4150  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title taken from _Shelter_ by Ray Lamontagne._

** Chapter Seven: Not Until Those Very Words Were Spoken **

Dean felt strange about seeking Sammy out after spending so much time trailing him in secret. But he was sure that's what John wanted. He broke in partly because he didn't want to wake up half the building. He didn't know how heavy a sleeper Jess was, but he and John had never managed to get Sam to sleep any lighter then the dead. He wondered around the apartment, taking in the various furnishings and bits and pieces of what was now his brother's life. It was almost like he was starved to find out who his brother was now. There were pictures of Sam and Jess, their friends and what he assumed was her family. None of him or John. Just one more reminder that they had no place in Sam's prefect, apple pie life. He sighed heavily. He was an intruder here. Not the guy who'd helped raise Sam, and certainly not his brother. He was nothing to the younger man anymore.

Something broke his train of thought and Dean cocked his head. Oh… Sam was up. Must have heard him after all. He wondered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Of course his little sister wouldn't have any beer. He wondered back into the living room, towards Sam. The "fight" was over quickly and ended up the way it always did… with Sam pinned underneath him.

"Devon?"

"Yeah. Looks like I'm still the better fighter."

Sam reversed the hold and ended up on top, a move that surprised Dean. "That right?"

For a split second Dean was stuck between the urge to be pleased and the urge to reassert his dominance. He decided to go with pleased and laughed. Sam smiled, one of his happy open smiles, and the temporary loss of dominance was completely worth it. Sam got up and held out a hand to help Dean up. Dean accepted it and looked his little brother up and down.

"Dude… did you… did you get _taller_?"

Sam rolled his eyes and seemed to suddenly remember that he wasn't supposed to be happy to see him. "What are you doing here, Devon?"

"Dad's missing. I haven't heard a word from him in a few days."

"Sounds like his SOP to me."

Dean frowned at the younger man. "Come on, man… you know it's not like that."

"He's probably off on a bender. You know what time of year it is."

"Yeah… I know. And _you_ know he hasn't been on one of those in years."

Jess entered the room wearing the cutest little pajamas. Where those _smurfs_? Not that the little blue cartoon people on the decal were nearly as interesting to look at as those legs… they practically went up to her freaking chin. Dean knew she was hot from seeing her from a distance, but she was always fully clothed. Now that he saw her like this up close and personal, he thought that she was probably always a little _too_ fully clothed. He heard his brother clear his throat and realized he was staring. And probably drooling. But Jess was totally drool worthy. Too bad Sam was such a prude. He would be typically unwilling to share. Dean wouldn't mind having those long legs wrapped around his waist.

"Devon, this is Jess, Jess this is my… father's boyfriend, Devon."

Dean gave her his most charming smile. "Hi. You are _way_ out of Sammy's league."

"It's Sam," Sam muttered through clenched teeth.

She gave him a shy smile. "Hi."

"He's concerned because my Dad's missing. I was just telling him he'll turn up soon, probably hungover."

"And I was just telling your boyfriend that John doesn't do that anymore, and it wasn't like he made some sort of habit out of it before he stopped completely. And the _least_ he can do for the man is help me look for him."

"Why would you even come here? I mean, what state was he in last you heard from him?"

"He was _here_, Sammy. Not even two hundred miles away. Come on man… I just…" Dean trailed off with a sigh. He didn't know if he should tell him that John was worried that he was in danger. Didn't know if that would help or hinder him in the cause of trying to get Sam to come with him. It also kind of pissed him off that he had to talk Sam into coming. John was their _father_ for chrissake… why wouldn't Sam be concerned? "Obviously, you don't want anything to do with us. We've left you alone the way you wanted. You haven't heard from me in two years, and you haven't heard from John in even longer. I wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't important."

Finally, Sam agreed to go with Dean to John's last known location to see what they could turn up.

They found a Woman in White instead of John. Dean felt discouraged as he drove Sam back home.

"I told you, Devon, I have an important interview on Monday," Sam was saying like he was tired of repeating himself. He couldn't be half as tired of saying it as Dean was of hearing it.

"What about after that?" The longer he went without finding John, the more anxious he was. Now they'd found an empty hotel room that looked like John had left in a hurry, leaving all his clippings on the wall and his journal on the table, and Dean was trying to keep himself from considering the possibility that John was dead. At the very least, the evidence pointed to him being in serious trouble.

"This isn't my life anymore."

"That why you don't have any protections around your place?"

"I don't need them."

"You don't…" Dean couldn't even finish repeating that little piece of stupidity, trailing off with a sigh. "Well, I put one under your welcome mat. A devil's trap."

"Devon-"

"Look, you wanna be a jackass and take chances with your life, fine. But don't expect me to just silently watch you do it. I swear, if John knew you didn't have a damn thing anywhere… no guns, no knives, no salt lines… no nothin', he'd pop a fuckin' _vain_, Sam! And what about that cute little thing you got livin' with you? You think it's cool to just leave her there with no protection?"

"Most people live their entire lives without seeing anything supernatural."

"That's probably just what they think."

"You always did buy into Dad's paranoia."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Nice to see some things never change. Still just like talkin' to a god damn brick wall."

Dean was in an absolutely surly mood when he dropped Sam off. John could be dead in a fucking _ditch_ somewhere and Sam didn't seem to give a damn. All that mattered to him was getting back to his perfect, normal, boring life. So he was shocked when his caller id told him that Sam was calling him less than two minutes after the kid disappeared into his apartment complex.

"Dude… Brady's possessed," his brother's voice was a soft hiss.

"Brady? Who the fuck's that?" Dean could hear a low growl over the phone that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. That sound was not human.

"My best friend… he's stuck on the welcome mat!"

"Shit! Don't go near him. I'm on my way up." Dean hung up, feeling both pissed off and completely vindicated as he swung the Impala around with a squeal of tires and parked illegally in front of the building. No telling what that son of a bitch had been up to. Dean remembered John's message, or the parts of it he could hear anyway. If he hadn't left that devil's trap…

Dean grabbed a bottle of holy water and a sawed off shotgun from the trunk and rushed into the building and up the stairs to find Sam standing in the hallway about ten feet away from the possessed man. The demon was speaking in a low tone of voice, Dean thought it was probably trying to avoid attracting attention in the hope that Sam or Jess would get close enough for it to get its hands on, its black eyes fixed on something inside the open door of the apartment. Dean suddenly realized it was talking to Jess.

"Ignore, it Jess… it's not Brady," Sam said in his calm, 'please don't jump off the ledge' voice. The one that usually made Dean want to throw Sam off the ledge. There was no answer from Jess.

Dean moved forward until he was just outside the trap. Brady turned to look at him with black soulless eyes and sneered. "I know your secret… 'Devon'."

Dean's heart jack-hammered in his chest. He had to take care of this bastard before he said anything else. He squirted some holy water in its face. "Secret this, bitch," he snarled as he slammed the butt of the shotgun against its temple before it could recover, making the demon slam against the other side of the trap, sliding down the side and sinking to the ground in a heap.

"Got any really sturdy chairs, Sammy?"

Half an hour later Dean had Brady bound and gagged in the middle of the kitchen right on top of a devil's trap that was just big enough for the chair to sit inside. He sat Jess down on the couch so she couldn't see the demon and coaxed the entire story out of her.

_Jess heard Brady outside the door and opened it to find him just standing there and unable to move. She thought it was strange that he wouldn't come in, but kept trying to talk her into coming out. She knew that Brady was Sam's best friend, but he'd always given her the creeps, so she'd backed up even further rather than coming closer. When he finally realized that she wasn't coming out, he began insulting her. She finally slammed the door in his face, horrified. But she still heard him through the door. Not fifteen minutes later, just before she was going to call the police, she heard Sam's voice and opened the door again. But she didn't see Sam… just Brady, still standing in the same spot. Only now his eyes were completely black. She heard Sam on the phone out in the hallway. _

_"My best friend! He's stuck on the welcome mat!" There was a short pause. "Jess… don't come out. That's not Brady!" _

_"What the hell is it, Sam," Jess asked, feeling close to panicking. This had to be some sort of weird dream. _

_"It's a demon… don't go near it. It's trapped, but if you get too close it can still hurt you." _

_"A demon? What the fuck, Sam?" _

_"I know… just… trust me, okay? Devon's on his way up. He knows how to take care of these things." _

_Brady laughed. "I know something you don't know," he said in a hissing sing song voice, looking in the direction that Sam's voice had come from. "He's hiding something from you. From you and Daddy. Let me go and I'll tell you what it is." _

"What did he mean by that, Devon? That you're hiding something?" Sam pinned Dean with an intense stare once Jess was finished telling them what happened.

"Demons lie, Sam," Dean said. _And so do I_, he thought as he glanced at the demon staring at them malevolently. "He just wanted you to let him go so he could rip you to pieces." Dean handed Sam his keys and told him to take Jess to Bobby's. She just sat there, wrapped in a sweater and staring at Brady over her shoulder like a mouse keeping an eye on a snake.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"I gotta take care of this."

"You won't… he'll be okay, right?"

"That depends on how strong the demon is, how entrenched it's gotten and how hard it rode him. You know that, Sammy. I'll catch up to you… but you maintain protocol when you check into a room. Third one in the book, salt lines, protections, hidden weapons, the whole nine. Everything you need's in the trunk."

"Yeah… okay. Be careful, Devon."

"You too, kiddo."

Dean would never forget the look on Sam's face when he caught up to him a day and a half later and told him that Brady didn't make it. That the demon had been riding him for over two years, and there was nothing left to be saved. Sam just seemed to collapse in on himself, sitting next to Jess on the bed across from Dean, looking like an overgrown six year old. It wasn't just his best friend that died… it was the entire idea of a normal and safe life. Everything he believed since he was a kid was going up in flames. Because the guy he had made friends with? Who he'd 'saved' from drug addiction and who'd introduced him to Jess? The entire time, he'd been a demon. Dean told him that the plan had been to kill Jess the same way their mother had been killed. But that was all he'd been able to get out of the bitch. The damn thing had bite off Brady's tongue and spit it at him. He couldn't wait to tell John that story. He'd had a lot of things hurled at him on the job, but that was the first time it had been a tongue. It had taken him half a day to clean up the mess and dump the body.

Jess was obviously still in too much shock to really comfort Sam during his existential crisis, so Dean figured it was up to him. He rubbed Sam's back soothingly, the way he had when Sam was going through his emo teens and would come home all worked up about something or another. Everything had been the end of the world. A zit, or moving again, or the girl he liked laughing at him, or forced training. Life with Sam had been constant drama. "We dodged a bullet Sam. I don't know how long we have before Azazel knows that his little spy got sent back to Hell. He might know already. We need to stay under the radar, and keep moving. Between the two of us, we can drive straight through."

"So," Sam said as he looked up and met Dean's eye, "what now?" The steel resolve in Sam's eyes gave Dean a chill. He'd never seen Sam look so much like John.

"Now… it's not gonna be long before the cops are lookin' for the two of you. Brady's gonna be found and they're gonna figure out that he disappeared at the same time as you and Jess. The good news, though, is that dude's been dead for like six months, so they may not even connect the body with Brady's disappearance. I broke into his room and packed some of his shit up… gave it away to the homeless on my way here. Gonna donate the luggage to the local Goodwill when we hit the road. With a little luck and some lazy ass police work, it'll just be three dropouts who couldn't take the pressure and went missin' at some point. Tragic, but not necessarily a crime."

"So," Jess finally spoke up, "He was _dead_? For _six months_? How is that… how is that even _possible_?"

Dean shrugged. "You'd be surprised what's possible."

Sam squeezed her hand. "While you're at Bobby's you can learn as much about it as you want." He was still speaking to her in his 'please don't jump off the ledge' voice. Dean grit his teeth.

"New plan, geek boy," Dean cut in before Sam could offer to braid her hair. "I called Bobby on the way here. We're takin' her somewhere she'll be safe while we figure out what happened to John."

"What? The… the thing that killed mom just tried to kill Jess! You want us to waste time lookin' for Dad?"

"I promised him I'd keep you out of its path."

"So, Dad can go after this thing, but I can't?"

"I see… you wanna do this your way?"

"I don't see why not."

"Tell me Sam… where would Jess be if everything was done your way?" That took the wind out of Sam's sails and he sagged back onto the mattress. Dean almost felt guilty for it. But now was not the time to handle his brother with kid gloves. The only way to teach Sam a lesson he didn't want to learn was to hammer it home with as much force as possible. "I would think there'd be a limit to how many times you insist on bein' wrong in a forty eight hour period. You haven't hunted in _four years_, Sam. And even before that? You didn't want to. You're heart has never been in it. And you wanna come out of retirement and take on a demon? Not just any demon either, but something as ancient and dangerous as Yellow Eyes? No way in hell, Sam!"

"Well, I'm motivated now."

"Yeah. By _revenge_. It's gotta be more than that. Or it'll hollow you out."

"That's what it's about for Dad."

"I'll grant you that a lot of it is, but that's not all of it. That's not even most of it. He knew it would target you. All those years, all that training you never wanted to do, he was just tryin' to make sure you were ready. And that's why I'm tryin' to find him because… because I don't think he's plannin' on comin' back, Sam."

Sam scoffed, but it was an act, Dean could tell by the way his eyes were too bright and his lip curled. The idea of Dad dying scared him almost as much as it scared Dean. "Not comin' back? Dad?"

"He's gonna do whatever it takes to stop him… or at least cripple him. He would die to keep it from takin' you too, Sam." Dean rubbed his mouth as he remembered the last time he'd seen John. "There must have been somethin' he learned while he was in Cali. Last I saw him, he was talkin' about us makin' a trip up to Montana after he took care of this last hunt. John never leaves a hunt unfinished. Never makes a promise he doesn't intend to keep."

Sam looked lost, like he was an inch from losing it. Dean was starting to get whiplash from all suddenly changing emotions. "I can't… I can't just sit around and do nothin', Devon. Especially if what you say about Dad is true."

"Who the hell said anything about doin' nothin', Sammy?"

"Why do you have the Impala?" Sam's question came out of the blue after several miles of silence.

"John gave it to me."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah." Dean stroked the steering wheel lovingly. "Gave it to me for my twenty fifth birthday."

Sam was silent for a while. "So we're really just gonna go to every hunt Dad sends us on?"

"That's exactly what we're gonna do. You got a better way to get you in top form? Dude… I think I speak for all of us when I say, the sooner we can mount that sonovabitch's head on wall, the better. But rushin' in half cocked? That ain't the way to do it."

There was another long stretch of silence, mostly filled by Dean's (John's) music and Dean thumping the steering wheel to the beat. Finally, it started to feel too tense to Dean and he cleared his throat. "So how was Jess?"

"Okay, I guess. It was all a big shock, you know? She's mad under all the shock I think. I can't really blame her. You were right. She was wide open and she almost died because I didn't wanna believe that anything could touch me. It's all my fault, isn't it Devon? It's my fault that Mom and Dean died? I mean… it was in my nursery. And they wanted to kill Jess the same way they killed Mom. It was after me the whole time, wasn't it?"

Dean felt a lump in his throat. The memory of his mother was always bittersweet. And he hated being reminded that his family thought that he was dead, that he was someone else. "None of this is your fault, Sam. I mean… yeah, you coulda handled things a hell of a lot better. But being targeted by that evil fuck and all the people he hurt tryin' to get to you? That's _his_ fault. And we're gonna make 'im pay for it."

_"Hi." _

"Hi? You go missin' for damn near a year and the best you can do is 'hi'?"

_"I left you a message,"_ John said, sounding defensive. He'd damn well better be defensive. Dean had gone from worried to terrified to confused to just plain pissed. He'd known that John's plan was to go after the demon alone, but he didn't think that meant falling off the grid entirely.

"Yeah, that was so full of EVP, I could barely make out every other word! All I heard was 'he's back' and 'we're all in danger'. I… I spent a good two weeks convinced you were dead until I started getting your texts."

_"Baby… I'm sorry. I didn't know… I thought it was the demons calling and leavin' messages, tryin' to set a trap. They can do shit like that. I'm alright, but I can't stay on the line long. They can trace calls. I just… I needed to hear your voice and know for sure you and Sam are alright." _

"We're good. Just… be careful."

_"Always careful, sweetheart." _

Dean snorted. "Yeah, right."

_"Gotta go… Stay safe. Love you." _

"Love you too," Dean said to the dead connection.

_"Bet you miss that sweet little piece you got waitin' for you, don't ya Johnny?"_

"Who is this," John demanded, tightly gripping the cell phone he held to his ear as he sat in the cab of his truck, even though he already knew who it was – _what_ it was. He'd just parked in the lot of another no-tell hotel and was about to get out to rent a room when the call came through. The caller ID read all sixes when he looked at it and the sight had raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck, but now he felt real fear rippling through him, cold and harsh. He'd expected Azazel to threaten Sammy, not Devon. "Stay the hell away from him!"

_"Don't worry. I got no plans to go near the boy again when the first time was so effective."_

His heart skipped a beat at that as the demons voice slithered through his mind. Was Devon lying dead or dying somewhere? Was Sam alone and unprotected out there? "What… what did you do to him?"

_"Oh, nothin'. Just rescued him before I set mother Mary on fire. Really, you should _thank _me… you both probably woulda been crispy critters if I'd left him there. Told him not to tell who he was or where he came from. Real obedient boy. Still hasn't told Daddy who he is, even after all these years. Think he lets you fuck him because he just wants his Daddy to love him? Or you think he's such a twisted little slut that he actually enjoys it? Bet he enjoys it. Nobody's_ that _good at faking. Even if they did once get paid for it."_

John had never had that sensation that some people talked about of having their blood freeze in their veins until now as the unwelcome understanding of what Azazel was saying dawned on him, slow and irrevocable. It started in his gut and spread out until he couldn't feel anything but cold. "He's not… what the hell are you saying?"

_"That boy's name ain't Devon. It's _Dean_. Dean Winchester. Devon was his older foster brother. Does it make you proud John? How that boy o' yours can take Daddy up the ass like a pro? Oh… that's right. He_ was _a pro. All those nights, taking it from stranger men in back alleys and the back seats of cars. Wonder what kinda flashbacks all those cheap hotels inspired? At fifteen, he'd probably already had twice as much cock as most town sluts."_

"You're lying!" He spoke through gritted teeth, his stomach clinching painfully. He felt like he was going to throw up.

_"Ask him."_

John sat with the phone pressed to his ear long after the line disconnected. It couldn't be true… could it? As much as he wanted to Dean to somehow be alive and well, Devon wouldn't lie to him about that. And his boy, his Dean, would never let him… It couldn't be Dean he'd been touching, having sex with for the past eleven and a half years. That all those horrible things had been happening to before he found him in that bar. But why would the yellow-eyed son of a bitch lie about it? It was too easy to disprove. But it couldn't…. it couldn't be true.


	9. When All Around Us Falls

**Title:** Rough Trade 9/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong>  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title taken from _Shelter_ by Ray Lamontagne._

** Chapter Eight: When All of This Around Us Falls **

Dean opened the door to find a bruised and tired looking John on the other side. He didn't even bother to put down his gun, just pulled the older man into a hug and inhaled his scent. No matter how big and strong he'd gotten, John was still bigger and stronger. That felt right, made him feel safe. John didn't hug him back though and Dean could feel tension thrumming through his body where they were pressed together. Dean took a step back, puzzled. They weren't exactly touchy-feely, but it wasn't like John not to return a hug. Especially after not seeing him for over a year. The look on John's face was dark and unfamiliar. No, that wasn't true. It was familiar, but it had been a long time since he'd seen it. It had been when he was still so raw over the fire that the only way he could deal was from the bottom of the bottle.

"What's wrong? Did… is it the demon?"

"The demons' dead." Relief flooded through him… it couldn't hurt Sam anymore. John pushed past him and walked to the kitchen. He hesitated once there, like he'd forgotten why he'd come that way, before getting a beer from the fridge. Dean followed him, his relief dying a slow and painful death with each passing second.

"Then what?"

John walked away again, taking his unopened beer with him. Dean might not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but he could take a hint. John didn't want to be near him. He stood rooted in place as he watched John sit the beer bottle down on the counter. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. It had been so long since he'd felt that old weariness, but here it was again, making him feel sick to his stomach. Was John tired of him? He should have seen this coming, should have never let his guard down. He knew better.

"Bastard said some things, Devon," John finally said, his voice heavy. He sounded exhausted and sad. "Said I should ask you if they were true."

Dean swallowed hard. Suddenly, John's behavior made sense. Of course the yellow-eyed son of a bitch knew who he was. He'd taken him from John in the first place, put him in that hellhole of a foster home. His little bitch back at Stanford had known. Dean wasn't sure how he managed to remain standing as he imagined what the demon must have said, what John must think of him now. He hugged himself tightly as a chill swept through him and closed his eyes like he could somehow hide from the train wreck his life was about to become. John would leave, and Sam would go with him and he'd be alone. They would never forgive him. He didn't deserve their forgiveness. "'M sorry, Dad."

John backed away like Dean had struck him. "Oh God… oh Jesus…" John stumbled to the nearest chair and fell into it, his face buried in his hands. "_Why_? Why Dev…" he stopped mid-yell, drew in a sharp breath. He slowly raised his head and searched Dean's face. "Dean… Oh… God… _Dean_…."

"'M sorry…" That was the only thing Dean could say, could managed to push past the lump in his throat. He should have died… died in the fire, or in a gutter back when he was on the streets. It would have been better than seeing his father this broken. Because of him, because of his lies. Because he was a whore.

"I can see it now. Those eyes… the fair skin, the freckles. The smile that can light up a whole damn room. How could I not see it before? How the hell could I not know my own son the minute I saw you?" John's voice was low and hoarse. He sounded so… _broken_ that all Dean wanted to do was hold him. But he was frozen, unable to move. That was probably a good thing. He had no idea how John would react if he tried to touch him right now. If he'd found out he'd been screwing Sammy for over ten years without knowing he was his brother, he'd probably knock out a few of the kid's teeth.

"I didn't know at first. I swear I didn't know. And then when I figured it out, I was afraid to tell you." Dean spoke fast, trying to make John understand and knowing that what he'd done was inexcusable.

"But _why_? How many times did I tell you that I didn't expect anything from you, that I just wanted to help you? You thought that wouldn't still be true if I knew you were my son?"

Dean tried to blink away the tears stinging his eyes, but they fell anyway. "I thought you'd hate me for what I was. That you'd be disgusted because we'd already had sex and I still wanted…" Dean couldn't say it. It was bad enough that it was true, but he couldn't pull it out into the harsh light of day like that.

John studied him in silence and Dean couldn't read him. And that scared him, because he thought he knew every mood and expression John had inside and out. "Why would you still want me… _that_ way when you knew?"

"Because you were so good to me. When you touched me, it was the first time I felt right since Yellow Eyes took me and I didn't wanna lose that. You didn't hurt me, or force me into anything, didn't make me feel like I owed it to you or like you'd just take it anyway. You touched me like I was… like I was _special_. Like I _meant_ somethin' to you. I just wanted to hold on to that as long as I could. I knew that things would be weird between us if I told you who I really was, that you might never get over what we'd done."

"But you let me _grieve_ you!"

"I helped you heal, helped you move on."

"You helped me be happy again," John agreed. "But the pain I felt at believing you'd _died_… like _that_? That never… that _never_ went away. That never could have gone away."

"'M _sorry_." It felt inadequate, it _was _inadequate, but it was all he had.

"I don't know how to deal with this. I see you as a four year old, learnin' to tie your shoes, and then I see you in my bed and I… you're my _son_, Dean! How am I supposed to deal with what I've done to my own son?"

"You loved me the way I wanted you to. I'm sorry, but I don't understand why that's such a horrible thing!"

John shook his head and Dean didn't know if it was in denial or if the man was just overwhelmed. The door swung open and Sam rushed inside. Dean wanted to curse. That kid had the worst timing ever. "Dad!"

"Hi son." John tried to smile as he looked up at Sam, but it looked more like a grimace. John stood and pulled the boy into a hug, but Sam's smile didn't look as bright as it did when he entered. He had to notice their father's expression, feel all the tension in the room. John pulled away and held him at arms length. "You look… you look good, Sammy."

Sam's eyes darted back and forth from John to Dean. "What is it? What happened?"

"I have to go." Dean took a step towards John and opened his mouth to protest, only to stop at the raw expression in his father's eyes when he looked in his direction.

"But… you just got here. I mean, where are you going? After the demon again?"

"Demon's dead, son. I just… I need to go."

"Dad… you can't just _leave_ again after we just spent the past year tryin' to find you. Devon's been worried sick. He thought you were dead at first!"

"Devon is Dean, Sam."

Sam blinked at John, completely lost by what he was saying. "What?"

"He's your brother." John didn't look at him, just walked past him and out the door, closing it behind him.

Sam stood frozen for several long minutes staring at the door before turning to his brother and all Dean could do was stare back. His chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it and each breath he drew in was agony. The thing he'd feared and lied to keep from happening for the past twelve years was unfolding right in front of his eyes, and there was not a damn thing he could do to stop it. This was it. Sammy was realizing just how much of a whore he really was and he'd leave, just like John. He'd lose his family again, for good this time.

"You're… _how_?"

"Yellow Eyes stole me the night of the fire. Threatened me to make sure I never told who I was. I actually forgot a lot over the years."

"Did you… did you _know_?"

"Not right away. But I, uh, I figured it out."

"Why would you… why would you wait until now to tell him? Is it because the demon's dead?"

"Do I look crazy to you, Sam? I was _never_ gonna tell him! That sonovabitch demon told him. Probably just to fuck him over. God damn parting shot over the fucking bow."

"So you've been having sex your own father, and you _knew_ it? All these years?"

"Yeah, Sam. Have you forgotten that I'm a _whore_?" Dean voice was angry and bitter, the tears stinging his eyes threatening to spill over again.

"That's not… I just don't… I don't understand."

Dean finally walked to a chair and collapsed into it. He was so damn tired. "No. You wouldn't. I lost my virginity when I was seven, did you know that? To my foster father. For seven years, he snuck into my room and my foster mother pretended she didn't know. Pretended she didn't see the blood when she did the laundry. Everybody thought I was just a bad kid. Didn't even think that maybe I needed help. I finally ran away at fourteen. Tried a lot before then, but I always got caught. So, I'm fourteen and alone and broke and homeless… and too damn pretty for my own good. Wouldn't take a genius to figure out what I'd end up doin' to survive. Rough trade, they call it. Almost two years later I met John and for the first time, somebody actually gave a fuck. And I didn't… I wasn't sure that he wouldn't hurt me, but I was willing to take the chance, 'cause I wasn't gonna make it much longer on the streets. I just- I couldn't do it anymore, wanted it over one way or the other. So what the hell, right? Then once it started, I loved the way he made me feel, Sam. That week was the best I could remember my life bein' since I was four. When I realized who he was I knew if I told him the truth after I'd already talked him into havin' sex it would fuck all that up. I freaked the fuck out, man. Locked myself in the bathroom. I thought he'd hate me if he knew. It's one thing when you're new boy toy's an ex whore who's basically used up by the time he's 16, but actually you're _son_? I can't explain it better than that. So if you need to be judgmental, can you please do it somewhere else? Cause I just lost the only person who ever believed in me and I can't deal with you too right now."

"I…" Sam stopped and swallowed. "I believe in you, Dev- _Dean_. I may not agree with what you chose, but you were always there for me. Even taught me how to feel up a girl." Sam gave a small tentative smile with the joke. A peace offering.

Dean snorted and looked away. "You're just kissin' up now."

"So, we goin' after him?"

"What?"

"Are we goin' after Dad?"

Dean shook his head. "If he doesn't wanna be found, it won't do any good. 'Sides, he needs to think things through. Crowdin' him would be the worst thing to do."

"Yeah. I suppose you're right. So… the demon's dead. Means we're not on the run anymore."

"You can go back to school. Back to Jess."

"Maybe. First, I think we should get a place to stay. That's what Dad wanted, right? For us to have a home? Still got that stash you guys were saving for a house?"

Dean cocked his head at his brother. "Actually it was for land. Was gonna build the house. We camped there about six years back. Beautiful land, right on a lake with lots of fishing. We can get it for a song. Have enough left over for building materials… but…"

"Dad's coming back."

"You saw him, Sam. I don't think he is."

"He is. I grew up with a front row seat to the two of you. I may not understand it, but I know he loved you. He's already been away for a year. I don't think he'll last much longer."

Dean snorted. "Nobody's that good in bed, man. Not even me."

"Not talkin' about _sex_, Devon." He sighed, "_Dean_. Yeah, you guys definitely did that enough, but I'm talkin' about the fact that the two of you always gravitated towards each other. If one of you was one place, it didn't take too long before the other was there too. You just… always wanted to be together."

Dean bit his lip. Not like he had anything else to lose. And John had left him in charge of their joint savings. Worse came to worse, they could sell it for a profit. "Okay. Let's go to Montana. We've got a cabin to build."

Building a cabin was both harder and easier then Sam thought it would be. He was used to physical labor, because hunting wasn't exactly an occupation for wusses. But there were also the splinters that seemed to somehow find their way through the heavy work gloves Dean bought him. He couldn't explain enough how much he hated ending up with small pieces of wood embedded in his skin and under his nails, especially since Dean didn't bother to hide what a baby he thought Sam was whenever he had to pull out the tweezers and help him remove them. He did better with sleeping out in the elements than Dean did, though, so that was something.

His brother had been right about the land, it was beautiful. And it seemed much more isolated than it was, being only ten miles away from the town. Both Sam and Dean could walk that in their sleep. Once they got the support beams and outer walls up, Dean put him to work on etching protection runes in the surrounding trees and burying hex bags in metal boxes set in concrete while he did the carpentry work. And, of course, being Dean, he insisted that they go on local hunts in their 'spare time.'

Dean set up a grid-tie solar power system. Basically, they installed solar panels that powered the cabin during the day, feeding the excess power to the grid. At night, they drew off the grid. It would save a hell of a lot of money, and during the sunniest months of the summer might even earn them some extra cash. Of course, Sam suspected that his brother hadn't acquired the panels legally. Oddly, that suspicion was actually more normal than thinking of him as his brother.

Two months and it was starting to feel like home, even if they were still sleeping on the floor. The place was bigger than it looked from the outside, with one huge master bedroom with an attached master bath, and two smaller bedrooms separated by a bathroom across the hall on the top floor. The bottom floor would hold a kitchen, a living room, a half bath and a large library/study.

It was around that time that John finally called Sam.

_"So, Montana?" _

"Yeah. You done bein' pigheaded?"

John snorted on the other end. _"If anyone understood why I left, I thought it would be you."_

Sam let out a long breath. "I do understand, Dad. But… you can't undo the past. I don't see any reason for you and Dean to be miserable. You could at least call him."

_"I do call him. I call him once a week." _

"Really? He never said anything."

_"He wouldn't. I just… I wanted to make sure he was tellin_'_ me the truth about being alright." _

"Of course he's not… how could he be? You promised him that you'd always be there, and now you're not. I know he loves you, Dad. I spent half my life watching him bend over backwards to please you."

_"But… he shouldn't've…"_ John trailed off with a sigh.

"No. But I actually get why he did. And I think at this point it doesn't matter. None of that matters, Dad."

_"So, after all these years of disapproval, you suddenly want us together after you find out we're related?" _

Sam snorted. "It was weird having him around at first, okay? But Dev- _Dean_ grew on me. Sort of like a fungus. The two of you were like… epic. It's hard for me to imagine you staying apart."

There was a long pause, followed by a sigh. _"Yeah. Take care of yourself, Sam. And take care of your brother." _

The phone call made Sam sadder then he thought it had any right to. He should be happy that John wasn't all full steam ahead with the idea of having sex with his own son. But his father and brother really had made a strange kind of sense together. And they were both obviously miserable apart. He didn't know when he'd grown to care about Dean so much, but he hated seeing how depressed he was. When he was growing up, Dean had always been annoyingly happy. With John. He went upstairs to find Dean kneeling, half naked and sweaty, working on a frame in the master bedroom. It took him a few seconds to work out that it was a bed. A very large bed.

"Are you making all the furniture?" Something a lot like dread settled in his stomach at the idea.

Dean glanced up from his work for a second. "Nope. Just the pieces that'll cost too damn much to get from a store."

"That for you and Dad?"

He froze for a second before going right back to work like he hadn't stopped. "It's for Dad."

"Where are you gonna sleep?"

He shrugged. "Across the hall, I guess."

"Is that where you wanna sleep?"

He finally stopped and sat down, wrapping his arms around his raised knees. "I just want him back, man. He… I know he's probably disgusted with me now, so… I'm not gonna push anything."

"That what you tell him when he makes his weekly check in?"

"He finally called you, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I think he was too embarrassed to talk to you at first. I only tell him where we are, what we're doin', that we're both still in one piece. We used to talk for hours about the stupidest shit but it's like…" Dean drew in a deep breath and sighed it out. "It's like we're strangers now."

About a month later, Dean and Sam were on their way back from a hunt. Dean was going over all the things they still needed to do on the house when Sam cut him off half way through and threatened to tie him up and shove him in the trunk. Never mind that he doubted he could actually do it. He was desperate enough to try.

Dean shot him an aggrieved look. "What the hell, man?"

"I need _sleep,_ Dean!"

"You're four freaking years younger than me. You can't honestly be havin' a hard time keepin' up! And it's not like we have a lot to do. Most of the interior's all done. We just need shelves an' shower curtains an' shit like that."

"And about half the furniture. Which you keep insisting on us building ourselves. I'm tired of _splinters_, Dean! You're always raggin' on me about gettin' laid… I think you're the one who needs to before you drive me into an early grave."

Dean's reply died in his throat at the sight of John's truck in the drive. Sam got out as soon as Dean put the car in park and raced to the house, but Dean stayed put for several minutes. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face John again. Not after the last time. Not after all those impersonal weekly phone calls that felt like someone was driving a spike through his chest. Finally, he decided he couldn't just sit out here and avoid his father. He had to go in.

There was a brand new kitchen table with four chairs, and boxes everywhere when he entered through the back door. His father was seated in the center of it all, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a tattered shirt, an open box at his feet and the parts of a coffee maker in his hands, Sam standing next to him grinning like an idiot.

"Hey, Dean. You boys were gone when I got here, so I just took the liberty of gettin' a few things that you were missing."

"A _few_ things?"

"Yeah. Dishes, silverware, sheets, rugs, a few personal things I had in the storage shed that survived the fire. There's some stuff that needs to be installed in your bathroom, Sam."

"Oh. You mind if I sleep for about a year first? Dean's worse then you with the slave driving."

John snorted and shrugged. "It's your bathroom."

"Yeah. Imagine that… a bathroom of my own. Glad you're back, Dad."

"Yeah. Me too, son."

Then Sam was gone and it was just Dean and his father. Dean desperately needed something to do with his hands, so he went to the nearest box. Drinking glasses. Matching drinking glasses.

"Yeah, Dad. How long're these glasses gonna last?"

"Dude, they're plastic."

"Really?" Dean picked one up and found it much lighter than it would be if it were glass. "They look real."

"They're shatter proof. Unless you try to cook in 'em, they should be fine."

"I shoulda known better than to think you'd get glass," Dean said, feeling more apologetic then he knew he should. It wasn't like he'd accused the man of murder, he thought as he began putting things away in the cabinets. He kept repeating to himself that John was back. That had to count for something. He was back and that was all that mattered. They would eventually work everything out and he could deal with whatever form their relationship took. Sure he'd miss the sex… but he'd still have John. He'd still have his father and his brother and he wouldn't be abandoned.

"I had to get the sheets for our bed special made. That's gotta be the biggest fucking mattress I've ever seen."

Dean froze. Had he heard that right? He frowned in confusion. "_Our_ bed?"

"Yeah. And I moved your clothes into our room. We really need more stuff if we're gonna fill up those closets."

"Why? I mean, I thought…."

John got up and stood next to Dean, so close Dean could feel his breath against his ear, could smell his unique scent. It all went straight to his cock. It had been so damn long since they'd been this close, and even longer since his father had actually touched him. "I went off on a hunt when I left that last day we saw each other. Needed to kill somethin'. Afterwards, I was gonna come back and lay down the law. No more sex, we're just father and son. End of discussion. And halfway back, I, uh… I realized that I was daydreamin' about your lips and how they felt the last time I'd kissed you. I got off on the next exit and got _blitzed_. Didn't leave that town for damn near two weeks.

"The plain truth is… I don't know how to be just your father, Dean. I don't know how to be in a room with you and not want to kiss you or hold you. I don't know how to not want to be inside you. And I don't think I ever will…"

Anything else he might have wanted to say was cut off by Dean pulling him into a kiss. "You talk too much," Dean murmured against his lips. John huffed out an amused laugh and kissed him back.


	10. There is Life in This Love

**Title:** Rough Trade 10/10  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>John/Dean  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 370  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Consensual Daddycest  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> If only John and Dean were mine... *sigh*

**Summary:** When he met a guy named John in a bar, all Dean knew was the he reminded him of his Dad. Scarred, both mentally and physically, John obviously needed saving as much as he did. So when he gave the man his street name and suggested a 'mutually beneficial' relationship, he never dreamed that three weeks later he'd find out that John actually was his father.

**_A/N:_**_ This was writen for the spnslashbigbang. Thanks to the longsuffering and extra awesome wickedlilwitch for being an amazing beta and the very cool longerthanwedo who agreed to be my secondary beta, even though I often edit again/add things after they work their magic. All mistakes are mine. Chapter title taken from _All I Want Is You_ by by Michael Franti._

** Epilogue: There Is Life in This Love **

John and Dean were lying on the couch, Dean on top with his head pillowed on the older man's chest, while they watched Brotherhood of the Wolf. Sam sat on the floor, his back against the couch, holding the huge bowl of popcorn that Dean had made. When he was at Stanford, Sam tried to make popcorn as good as Dean's, but he could never quite get it right.

"Dude, I can totally do that," Dean claimed after a particularly spectacular move as he reached over Sam's shoulder. Sam dutifully lifted the bowl of popcorn high enough for Dean could get a handful. He didn't have to look to know that Dean was feeding it to John as well as himself. Sometimes he wondered how his father ate when Dean wasn't around to feed him.

Sam snorted as his brother's outrageous claim. "Yeah, right."

"What? You doubt my skills?"

"Dude… I don't think that's even humanly _possible_ without a pully, some wire and a stunt double."

Dean gave a put upon sigh, but didn't rebut. "So, what are you gonna do to get your girl back?"

"I don't know what I _can_ do," Sam replied as he twisted to look up at his brother. "She still won't talk to me."

Dean rolled his eyes and hit Sam on the head with a pillow. "Go see her, you idiot."

Sam snatched the pillow away and threw it at Dean, who caught it. "Jerk!" He was silent for a moment. "You think I should? I mean… I was tryin' to give her _space_."

Dean sighed again and lifted his head to look at John. "See. I told you we shoulda had more. At this rate, we'll _never_ have grandkids."

John snorted out a brief laugh and ran the fingers of one hand through Dean's soft hair. "You're brother's right. You need to go see her, Sammy." Dean smiled and stretched for a kiss.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Sam complained as he returned his gaze to the television, "can't you two keep it in your room?"

As he expected, they completely ignored him. He smirked as he watched the movie. He didn't actually want them to stop. In fact, it felt pretty damn good to have his family back the way it should be. Only one thing was missing. Maybe Dean was right. He needed to go see Jess.

T H E E N D


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